Faustian Hopscotch
by CalamityJim
Summary: A routine training mission has everyone up in arms when a people Atlantis thought long gone decides to join the party. Dean, at least, is glad for the distraction from what everyone who knows wishes he didn't know. You know? Sequel to Puddle Jumping
1. In Emperor's Clothes

This is the Sequel to Puddle Jumping. If you haven't read it do so because if you don't this will make no sense.

AN-**warning!** An itty bit of sexual content in this chapter, but it's pretty light. Second base. No more than that for now. I promise.

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**Faustian Hopscotch**

Chapter 1

In Emperor's Clothes

* * *

John Sheppard looked across the sea of faces, most familiar but some not, and heaved an internal sigh. This was not what he wanted to be doing on his first week of active duty.

It had taken a month to escape the clutches of Carson, who had taken their little impromptu swan dive off of the East Pier personally. Even though none of them had developed any sign of new illness Beckett had used it as an excuse to hold them longer, citing all kinds of bullshit medical jargon at them until they had acquiesced.

When John had finally been allowed to leave he had still been busted back to light duty until Beckett saw fit, leaving John to deal with the paperwork that came with turning into a bug. It had taken John a while to find the right sheet; the list of forms involving insect related injuries included but were not limited to being bitten by an insect, being poisoned by an insect, being turned into a cocoon, invasions of mechanical insects, seeing invisible interdimensional insects, and having the base be taken over by invisible insects. John really hoped that some of the sheets had been draw up in case of potential problems instead of in response to actual issues. This was part of the reason he hated doing paperwork. On Earth it was simply boring. Here it scared the shit out of him.

The day he had finally been allowed to do real work and get back out into the field and do his goddamn job Elizabeth had called him to her office to remind him that the field training he had scheduled had been postponed due to John's absence. Not that it was an actual problem. She and Major Lorne, John's XO, had taken the time reorganize and reschedule, which meant that John's first action of active duty was to give the field training speech.

Oh joy.

Not that John truly had any right to be mad. It was all standard procedure and if John could actually relax a bit it would probably even be fun. The problem was that after a month and half the one thing John was craving above all was routine. He wanted to get back into the swing of things and start sparring with Teyla and snarking with Rodney. He wanted to drink with Ronon again and go off world with his team.

The sooner he could get back to normal the sooner he'd stop dreaming of screams and the taste of flesh.

John buried his frown under a lazy smile and stepped up to the podium. "Hello," John drawled the word, his eyes sweeping over the crowd trying to measure the mood. "For those of you who don't know I'm Colonel Sheppard. Normally I would have met you all after you arrived but I was unavailable."

"We heard you turned into a bug!" A ripple went through the crowd at the announcement. It wasn't like the retrovirus incident was a secret but everyone had been taking great pains not to talk about it. After Cadman had ended up trapped in Rodney's head there were few things that could faze the expedition members and the new guys were going to have to get over their surprise sooner rather than later, which was part of the reason all of the new recruits had been scheduled into the training session. Nothing taught a person to swim like being dumped out of a boat into alien infested water.

John took a few seconds to wait for everyone to calm down as he memorized the face of the speaker. The blue he was wearing marked him as a scientist and John found himself inwardly cringing. Rodney had been away from the labs for the initial hazing of the new guys, which meant that the man who had just spoken up didn't actually know how things worked on Atlantis and had probably gotten comfortable being an asshole in the lab.

Rodney was going to eat the sucker alive.

When everyone had gone quiet John continued. "For those of you who don't know, I'm here to brief you on your schedule for the next two weeks. Everyone here will be participating in a series of combat field training exercises on P8C-392. Each activity has been designed to represent the specific hazards that come with the Pegasus galaxy. Some are designed to simulate mass combat while others are to give you a taste of offworld fieldwork. Everyone will work with a variety of different teams," John ignored the groan from the established offworld teams, "so that you can get used to working with other people's styles and behavior. You don't get to pick your comrades in an emergency."

John paused for a moment, letting people process before continuing. He took a deep breath.

"You will also be assessed on your performance. Those who fail will be sent home."

Predictably the room exploded into noise as people panicked. John held up a hand, waiting for people to calm down. He gave an encouraging smile before continuing.

"I also realize that some of you," aka the civilians, "only meet the minimal standard of combat expertise," which meant that they knew which direction to point a gun but could potentially unload it instead of firing it. "While this is meant to be challenging it is also meant to provide you with the tools you need to survive in Pegasus, not to drum you out and send you back home." That wasn't completely true. This week was designed to teach people how to survive Pegasus but it also gave the leaders of the city a chance to weed out any potential problems without having to wade through an ocean of red tape to send home those who were going to get other people killed. These drills were what Rodney called the last defense against idiocy.

"You will be judged on how well you perform in your area. This means that the medics will be judged on whether or not they can use a band-aid and the scientists will be judged on how well they can do whatever it is scientist do." The crowd let out a small chuckle, more out of nerves than out of humor, but John could see that people were now less likely to die of hypoxemia. "You will also be given instruction before being tested on areas such as marksmanship and combat protocol.

"But as I said, those who fail will be sent home. Those who refuse to participate will be sent home. Those who don't take this seriously will be sent home." It was better than people dying later because they were woefully unprepared for what being on Atlantis actually meant.

"But I'm a scientist!" John noted wryly that it was the Bug Speaker who made the hysterical protest.

"Please," came a familiar voice filled with disgust. Rodney McKay untucked himself from wherever he had been hiding and glared at the protestor until the man broke eye contact. "I thought in order to get over the Pegasus Galaxy you people had to have at least an iota of intelligence. Either the standards for intelligence have lessoned since I've left the galaxy or crippling brain damage occurs while on the Daedalus but since I've been on the Daedalus I'm going to presume that the latter is not the cause.

"If you really believe that being a scientist somehow makes you unpalatable to the Wraith then I can only conclude that the stupid have found ways to circumvent both Darwinian and the SGC selection process. As tempting as it is to allow the Wraith to correct that problem I actually need you people to at least pretend you can think and do your job, which includes not getting crushed under your own idiocy. I don't like doing paperwork and for everyone of you morons that commits suicide by stupid I have a stack load that keeps me away from doing my _real_ job, which is keeping those who can breathe without instruction alive." Every scientist in the room looked at the floor, suitably chastised, while the Chatty Cathy of the group looked as though he wanted a Wraith culling beam to save him from any further attention from Rodney. Some of the marines were grinning at Rodney's incensed rant but more than a few were keeping their heads down in case the scientist turned his wrath on them.

For a moment John's grin became sincere and he reminded himself to someday tell Rodney how hot he was when he was breaking his minions.

"You will all experience simulated combat against Pegasus veterans. While I don't expect you to beat your peers I do expect that you give it your all and try your best. When you are not in combat you will be given a rundown on field medicine, basic Lantian technology, and basic diplomacy for dealing with the locals. All ATA users will also be taught how to fly a Puddle Jumper-"

"Sonuvabitch!"

The curse caught John by surprise and he instinctively looked for the source of the noise. At the very back of the room stood two splashes of red, the color indicating more of a lack of department than an actual one, and John felt a tension headache build. Dean had pushed himself away from the wall and looked a few seconds away from staging a riot, the only thing preventing him being his brother's hand on his elbow.

John felt his stomach drop. He was going to have to spend a week with the Winchesters.

Great. Just great.

x—x-x—x

They were going to have to spend a week with the colonel.

Great. Just great.

Dean ranted as he paced the room, his arms swinging wildly by his side. His face was flushed with adrenaline and anger and his ever boot step conveyed his frustration. "Son of a fucking bitch! There is no way in hell they are going to stuff me into one of those tin cans! The damn things don't even have wings! How the fuck do they fly? Don't answer. Christ, I can't believe this. Are we even cleared to go off planet? Fuck. We are so not cleared to go off planet. We're space janitors, Sam! Space janitors!"

"I don't think that matters, Dean," Sam pointed out from his spot his the bed. Even though the paperwork actually said "maintenance" Sam didn't bother to correct his brother. Their jobs were to clean up the messes of others while Sam had the additional LS duty, which consisted of thinking 'on' at whatever a scientist shoved into his hand. The LS, it turned out, stood for light switch. It was an accurate description of what he had to do.

Dean had gotten out of it because the city seemed to be like every other woman Dean had dealt with. While Sam's dealings with Atlantis were always pleasant and city seemed glad to help him, she adored Dean and tried to do what she could to spoil him rotten. This meant that when Dean walked into a room the lights adjusted to his preference, as did the temperature without him even thinking about the changes. Devices Dean had no interest in lit up just in case he changed his mind and doors slid open without Dean trying to go through them. The city wasn't just responding to Dean, she was anticipating his needs.

Sam found it cute though he wouldn't say it out loud. He was glad that someone else saw how awesome his brother was, even if it was a semi-sentient city. But that didn't change the fact that LS duty sucked. Sam's only consolation was that he was rarely called for it since most of the scientists had allowed Dr. Beckett to tweak their genes. There were few devices that required a gene of his strength to turn on and even then John Sheppard spent a ridiculous amount of his time hovering close to the labs.

Sam picked at the mattress, his thoughts whirring. "The Colonel said that we'd be shipped home if we screw this up."

Dean stopped. "No. That can't happen. We aren't going back. Johnny wouldn't let him send us back." If they went back Dean was as good as dead. The NID would kill him, and Sam, if they were lucky.

Winchesters weren't known for their luck.

Sam nodded. "No, he wouldn't, but he also said not to bring attention to ourselves," not that being eaten by the military CO didn't qualify as attention but apparently stuff like that actually did happen with some degree of frequency that allowed General O'Neill to sweep it under the proverbial rug.

Dean scoffed. "Yeah, cause when I go down in a fiery wreck no one is going to notice."

"Dean, talk to the colonel about it. He's not a bad guy and if you explain that you're afraid of flying he might let you out of it."

"Not a bad guy?" Dean took a step towards Sam, his hand flailing wildly. "Dude, he turned me into a contortionist and you into a freaking happy meal."

Sam leveled Dean a look. They both knew Dean was being unfair but dammit! Dean didn't want to play fair! He wanted to survive the next week without dying a horrible death involving gravity.

"Dean," Sam pleaded softly, slipping into his 'I'm trying to be reasonable because I'm an emotionally sensitive girl' face. "The worst thing he can do is tell you that you have to fly. If he does you are no worse off than you are now."

"Except he'll know I'm fucking terrified!" Dean winced and closed his eyes. Goddammit. He couldn't believe he just said that. He sounded like such a chick.

"They say the best way to get over a fear is to face it." Sam sounded like a bigger chick.

Dean glared at his brother. "Stuff the Dr Phil crap, Sam." He took three more angry steps before plunking himself on the bed beside his brother, his hands digging tightly into the material of the bed. Atlantis was supposed to have changed things for the better. It was beginning to look like it had just changed things. "Do you really think he'll listen?"

Sam leaned over and bumped shoulders. "I think he will. The reason he's avoiding us isn't because he doesn't like us. It's because he feels guilty when he looks at us and that's a good sign. It means he cares about people, Dean. I think he'll listen and even if he can't change it he might be able to make it easier for you."

Dean did _not _lean into Sam's shoulder for comfort. Gigantor's weight simply made him tip on the uneven mattress. "What am I gonna do if he doesn't? Dude, there is no way I can fly one of those things."

Sam gave Dean a mischievous smile. "If you're that desperate play the dad card and tell him he owes you for all the missed Christmases."

Dean glared at Sam. "I'm not _that_ desperate," he grounded out between his teeth. Sheppard may have been his sperm donor in this life but he was not Dean's dad and never would be if he had any say in the matter. Dean didn't need a John in his life. He turned to face the floor, unwilling to see the look in Sam's face that said he thought otherwise.

"Dean," Sam murmured in the same tone he used to convince the traumatized to share. Dean's grip tightened. He wasn't fucking traumatized but if Sam kept this up he was going to be. "The ships are part of Atlantis. Do you really think she'd let anything happen to you?"

As though the city understood what they were saying she pressed herself into Dean's mind and he involuntarily felt himself feeling better. He tried to squirm out of the mental hug but was chided by soft bells for his effort. With another glare at his brother Dean submitted, allowing a freaking alien city to try and make him feel better.

"Fine," he tried to spit the word but he was certain that with the city pumping him full of feel better mojo that it came out as a pout. "I'll go see the Colonel. If anything goes wrong I'm pinning it on your ass." Dean stood and made his way to the door, which had already opened with the city's gleeful chirp. Dean paused in the doorway. "Back in a bit, bitch."

It slid shut behind him and Sam gave a nervous laugh as the tension he'd been hiding from his brother rose to the forefront. He didn't even notice as his own hand gently gripped his stomach. "Good luck, jerk," he whispered, praying that John Sheppard was a better human being that John Winchester had ever managed to be.

x—x-x—x

John Sheppard was a slightly above average person.

It was why Rodney deigned to put up with him. Physically John was an excellent specimen, his body honed hard with the constant exercise that came with fighting for your life. The height difference was negligible and therefore not awkward with John having only an inch or so on the scientist. His eye color was an intriguing hazel green that darkened and shifted depending on his mood.

Mentally John was superior to the majority of Rodney's peers. Not that that was an achievement in itself; most of the people Rodney worked with were vapid idiots whose intelligence could be measured in the negative. John had a subtle sense of sarcasm that, when targeting someone else, Rodney could greatly appreciate. The man had a way of cutting you at the knees and making you want to shake his hands for it.

John was also a closet nerd and could be persuaded to join in conversations on the merits of Star Trek compared to Star Wars when the need arose. More importantly John was a closet genius, making him one of the few soldiers who it was fun to play Prime-Not Prime with. The man actually presented a challenge to some of the geeks, proving that he had working brain cells hidden under his ridiculous mop of hair that seriously couldn't have been regulation.

John wasn't perfect; he wasn't even close. He was, however, tolerable, intelligent and willing to have sex with Rodney, which made him a rare and special combination that McKay wasn't willing to lose.

Which was why Rodney was here instead of his lab, standing in John's office and attempting to soothe his lover to the best of his ability.

"What the hell is your problem?" Even Rodney could admit he wasn't known for his social skills.

John smirked like a cat, practically purring as his gaze dragged over Rodney's body as he twisted his office chair from side to side. "You're still wearing clothes."

"Cute," Rodney glared down, unimpressed. "Now tell me why you were so pissed when that kid spoke up?"

"What kid?"

Rodney scowled. "I'm the smartest man you will ever meet so don't you 'what kid' me. Now why the hell are you all pissed at Rifle the shorter?"

John sighed as his expression darkened, the office chair ceasing to move. "Winchester. His name's Dean Winchester."

"Whatever," Rodney waved a hand, his brain immediately discarding the superfluous information. He continued to stare at Sheppard in his best 'I am not going to let this go' face.

John ran a hand through his hair, somehow managing to make it look even more mussed, if that were possible. He looked around the room, his eyes trying to find anything but Rodney to focus on. "I ate his brother."

Rodney sniffed. "That was ages ago. Besides, I thought they were over that."

John glowered. "They are."

"And?"

John snapped his eyes back to Rodney, his face filled with loathing and guilt. "And I'm not, okay? I'm supposed to protect the people of this base and all I can see when I look at those kids is how badly I fucked up and now I have to spend an entire week dealing with them."

"That's it?"

"That's _it_?" John's tone was scandalized. "Rodney, I dislocated both of Dean's shoulders and ate his brother. Alive."

"I still can't believe you did that. Do you know how many diseases you can get from eating raw meat? Let alone people? Seriously, if you start to have any strange twitches you should go see Carson immediately."

John gaped like a fish before scowling at his lover. "You are an insensitive bastard."

"Yes? And?" John continued to glower. "Look, if we have sex in here will you get over this?"

"What?"

Rodney spoke slowly in small syllables so the less evolved beings could understand. "Sex. In here."

"Now?" John's chair gave half a spin as the colonel leaned forward, clearly intrigued.

"No. I was thinking the next time the Wraith attack. Of course no-"

John's mouth silenced Rodney's sarcasm as it slammed over the scientist's lips and part of Rodney's brain marveled at just how fast Sheppard could move when motivated. The rest, however, was too busy sparking as John's tongue danced in his mouth.

It was John's roaming hands that shocked Rodney out of his stupor. As calloused fingers grazed over where his nipples were hardening under his shirt Rodney's own began to wander, sliding down John's torso until they found the button to his BDUs. John moaned and slipped his arms around Rodney's back, pulling the scientist closer as John buried his face in Rodney's neck, trailing kisses down the sensitive skin.

Rodney shuddered but with the dexterity that came from years of lab work he managed to pop the button. He slid his hand down John's pants, his lover's moan echoing through him as he found what he was looking for.

John's grip tightened and he spun them around. With a long arm he knocked everything off of his desk before pushing Rodney to lean against it.

"John," Rodney gasped Sheppard's name with lust.

The door to the office slid open.

x—x-x—x

Oh God.

Just… Oh God.

Dean was going to kill Atlantis. He wasn't sure if he could kill a city, but he was going to damn well try even if he had to salt and burn the entire freaking thing. He had been planning on knocking. He had even raised his hand to knock. In fact, his hand was still raised to knock. But no. The city decided that what Dean wanted, Dean got.

So if Dean wanted a door open the damn door would open.

Oh God.

Dean opened his mouth a few times, perhaps trying to stammer out an apology. Maybe it was to throw up. Whatever was supposed to happen didn't as Dean stared at Colonel Sheppard, who was currently bent over Dr. McKay, who had his hands down Colonel Sheppard's pants.

The city seemed to pick up on the fact that Dean did so not want to see this and the door silently slid shut.

Dr. McKay was having sex with John Sheppard.

Dr. McKay was having _gay_ sex with Dean's dad.

Oh God.

x—x-x—x

The door slammed shut and John looked down at Rodney who was still staring at the door.

Well…fuck.

X_X_X_X_X_X_X

Confusion Clear Ups

The Insect Rant-

SGA Episode

Bitten by a Bug- 38 minutes Season 1

SG-1 Episodes

Turned into a Cocoon- Bane Season 2

Base taken over by invisible aliens- Show and Tell Season 2

Metal bugs (replicators)-Nemesis Season 3

Seeing Invisible interdimensional insects- Sight Unseen season 6

Cadman in Rodney's head-Season 2 Duet

Dr Phil-A talkshow host who gives really crappy advice in the form of Texan clichés. That being said: he is not a real Dr so he doesn't get a period. Seriously, he does not have a Ph or MD in anything.


	2. A Violent Interlude

**Faustian Hopscotch**

Chapter 2

A Violent Interlude

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Sam rested his elbows on the railing and leaned over, letting his gaze wash over the city. He took in a deep breath of the sweet ocean air and let it out in a quick puff, blowing his bangs out of his face, and continued to survey the scene.

Atlantis rose in a mass of jagged and twisted spires, still elegant despite the cacophony of shapes and heights. Between the spires and off the one side the Lantian Sea glinted under the afternoon sun. On a windy day, if Sam closed his eyes and listened, he could even hear the waves as they slapped into the piers.

But today was soft and still, the slight breeze swirling through the city like a lazy ghost content to occasionally run its fingers through Sam's hair. A lone cloud trudged across the sky, taking long and lazy breaks for every inch of progress it made. Laughter bubbled up from the bowels of the city, possibly a balcony below, and Sam let a soft sad smile drift across his face.

A part of Sam loved Atlantis. How could he not? The city was a constant presence in his mind, checking in on his welfare. When she wasn't doing that she was taking care of Dean in a way that Sam had once thought his brother would never allow. It would be impossible to resent that, especially with how Dean seemed to glow as he bragged about how the city loved him best. Sam pretended to be cross but he wasn't actually jealous. Dean may have had Atlantis but Sam had Dean.

Yet despite all of that a part of Sam just couldn't seem to let go of how alien Atlantis was. There were no birds swirling in the sky, no seagulls swooping down to pick at trash or barnacles. The sun didn't rise in the east and set in the west. There was no moon in the sky of alien stars. The ocean wasn't even full of salt water. The landscape was strange, as strange as the world that Sam had been born into that had aliens and wormholes instead of demons and mojo. And like being this world Sam wasn't in Atlantis because he wanted to be, but because he had to be.

He knew he was being stupid. Considering everything that had happened, ending up on Atlantis with Dean was getting off light, even _with_ Sam almost ending up as snack food.

Still, there was that little part of Sam that was undeniably Winchester and resented that this wasn't his choice, that he and Dean had been forced to run away yet again. Sam felt powerless. Though he wouldn't admit it out loud, he had for a long time. It was part of the reason he had turned to Ruby, that he had turned to the blood and the power. It was the same reason he had ran to Stanford. He had needed to have some control over his life, some voice in where he was going and how he was going to get there. He had needed to be in-charge of his own destiny.

And hadn't that just failed spectacularly?

Sam sighed. It had failed and a lot of other people had paid for Sam's mistake. Gabriel had been right, back when he'd told Sam that he needed to let go. He had been wrong when he'd applied it to Dean, but he'd still been a bit right. Sam wasn't in control. He never had been, and pretending otherwise got the people around him killed. Sam needed to accept that some choices had been made for him. Atlantis was one of them. Instead of resenting how he got here he needed to relax and just enjoy being here. There were worse places.

Sam flashed the sky a rueful grin. He knew he was brooding and that Dean would kick his ass if he saw him, but Dean wasn't there.

In fact, Sam frowned as he watched the lazy cloud claim another inch, this was the first time that Sam had been left on his own since Jack O'Neill had come bearing juice all those months ago. When Dean hadn't been hovering there had always been someone else, even if they had been a nameless grunt whose only interactional value was to scowl at Sam, to fill the void.

Atlantis, though it was hard to judge at this point, was looking to be just more of the same. Dean had been sticking to Sam like gum on the bottom of his shoe, although Sam couldn't really resent that. With just how close a call John's little jaunt into insect biology had been if Dean hadn't taken to hovering over Sam he probably would have taken to hovering over Dean. Yet the few times that the Winchester boys were separated Sam had found himself with an unlikely shadow in the form of Ronon.

Sam had thought that when the revelation of his current 'gift' had sent the Runner from the room that that was the end of that. He'd counted on Ronon being practical enough to come back for the plans for Dean's Water Gun from Hell (the name was all Dean's idea, obviously) and then keep his distance. Finding out that someone could see the future tended to freak people out. Hell, it _still_ freaked Sam out.

Instead of pushing him away, confirmation of Sam's abilities seemed to have bound the Runner even further to the Winchesters. Though Dean had been holding his hand, it had been Ronon's face that Sam had first seen waking up in the infirmary. Ronon had continued to come in every day despite how obviously frustrated he was by the passive environment of the infirmary. He often spoke to Colonel Sheppard when he could divert the man's attention from Dr. McKay, but he always made time to come and speak with the Winchesters.

After Sam's release Ronon acted as a guide, explaining some of the ways other soldiers entertained themselves. More often than not the Runner was disdainful, which delighted Dean to no end. Sam would just shake his head as he listened as the two ranted about the idiotic and redundant nature of golf before heading to the shooting range.

It made Sam smile.

Ronon… fit. It was strange how the alien slid seamlessly into the lives of the Winchesters, like a puzzle piece they hadn't known was missing. Even Bobby had never quite filled the hole that Ronon seemed to. The older hunter, while like a second father, had always seemed to not quite get it. Bobby had learned to hunt. Sam and Dean had been raised on it.

A knock on the door pulled Sam out of his musings. He sighed, talking one good look over the city before the knock came again, sharp and urgent. Sam pushed himself away from the railing and opened the door.

Outside was a vaguely familiar, harried looking man, wearing the green that marked him as a technician. He had thick brown hair that was tinged with blonde and grey highlights. His eyes, matching in color, were too large for his pale face, giving the man a doe-eyed appearance. The soft and guileless eyes gave the man an ageless appearance, making it difficult to tell if he was seventeen or thirty-seven.

The lost worried look he was sporting only made it worse.

As did the way the man's eyes widened when he spotted Sam. "Sam Winchester?" he asked softly, as though if he spoke the name too loudly Sam would deny it or turn into someone else.

Sam nodded. "Can I help you?"

Instead of looking relieved the man tensed. "You're needed in the gym."

Sam blinked. "The gym?" He'd been expecting the man to be a gofer for the one of the science departments.

The man nodded before biting his lip. He pulled the soft skin, stretching it as it slid out from under his teeth before continuing. "Major Lorne requested your presence. He said that you needed to come down before his marines break your brother."

Or before his brother broke Lorne's marines

Sam reached out to the city, worried. Dean had taken great pains to avoid any public displays of his fighting prowess, wanting the advantage of being underestimated if something went wrong. If Dean was being violent then his meeting with Colonel Sheppard went worse than Sam could imagine.

The city tugged back, flooding Sam with her relief, worry, and sheepish embarrassment. He could feel her pull at his connection, urging him to go where he was needed.

Sam sent a rush of assurance before turning back to the technician. He gave the man a grim nod, knowing that whatever state he found Dean in was not going to pretty. Something had gotten to him and Sam intended to find out what.

Still, he hoped that Dean would have his fill of punching people in the face before Sam found him.

x-x—x-x

The Winchester men, and by men Dean meant himself and John Winchester, had long ago learned that the three standard fallbacks for dealing unwanted emotions were sex, booze, and violence. Somewhere, someone had failed Sammy horribly and had convinced the kid that talking and hugs were effective for dealing with grief.

Which was bullshit. Dean shook his head as he marched down the hall, his heavy, military issue boots echoing down the empty hall. Dean had no intention of ever talking about what he had seen. He had no intention of thinking about what he had seen. He had no intention of processing the fact that he had walked in on John Sheppard and Rodney McKay about to get it on.

Oh God. He was thinking about it.

Dean could feel his gorge rising in his throat. He swallowed it back, leaning against the wall and rubbing at his temples as though he could dislodge the thoughts out of his head so he could figure out a solution.

Sex was out. Part of the problems with living in a city which double as an island was the isolated population. Loving and leaving wasn't something Dean could do because the whole leaving part was no longer an option. While Dean had every intention of accumulating a series of casual partners the fact remained that that took time that Dean didn't have. He needed to forget now, not a week from now.

Besides, his penis felt like it was trying to crawl back up inside him.

Booze was always a great standby but also a little more difficult to come by than Dean was used to. Sheppard, Dean tasted bile at the thought of the name, had moved his secret stash to somewhere where it was secret again.

But Dean wouldn't be Dean if allowed something like that to stop him. While Sammy had been off flicking switches for the geeks Dean had pounding the pavement and mingling with the locals. Most of the soldiers still had a rampant dislike for him but there were a few that Dean had been able to put his feet up with. Stackhouse seemed to genuinely enjoy Dean's company and took the time to introduce Dean to his buddies. Major Lorne had been in charge of making sure Sheppard was properly guarded. Seeing as how the colonel decided that the Winchester buffet sounded delicious his plans had been a bit in the 'needs work' department. Lorne seemed to seek Dean out because of a misplaced sense of guilt, as if he had simply allowed Sheppard to knock all the guards out cold. It was ridiculous, of course, but Dean was never one to turn away an advantage.

Firmly entrenched in the city's gossip network Dean had learned quite a bit, including that the crazy Czech dude who had bitched him out on his first day here had built a freaking still in one of the back rooms, which was why, for first and hopefully last time, Dean was heading to the science labs.

He didn't actually have a plan for getting the doc to share his hooch, but he was hoping that the sheer potential his presence had for chaos would be enough. He was also banking on the fact that Atlantis would spend the next hour at least not doing anything for him unless he very specifically asked. The city had managed to pick up on the fact that Dean was pissed and for once had figured out that the way to fix that was to _back off_, not to turn on every light in a twenty-foot radius.

But the good doctor didn't need to know that.

Dean pushed himself away from the wall, buoyed by the prospect of the burn of alcohol to cleanse his pain. He shoved his hands into the pocket of his uniform, whistling tunelessly as he strolled down the hall, the tension easing out of him now that he had a goal. He could feel the city watching him on the very edge of his consciousness and he cheerfully ignored her as he stepped into a transport.

He was, in fact, so busy being content to ignore her that he ran smack into the back of a soldier waiting outside the transporter.

"Whoa. Sorry man!" Dean lifted his hands in apology, looking down at the man he'd bumped into. His tentative good mood evaporated at the sight.

Staff Sergeant Tracey Warner glared up at Dean, his blue eyes narrowed with hatred. "Winchester," he growled.

"Oh hey, Alabama," Dean greeted with false enthusiasm, his eyes flashing as he remembered the bruise the man had left on Sam's wrist their first day here.

Warner snorted but didn't bother correcting Dean. Instead the man made an exaggerated show of looking around. "Where's your faggot brother? You pounded his pretty ass too hard into the mattress?"

Dean's smile because frosty as his eyes iced over. When Dean spoke his voice was calm and steady, like the barrel of a gun in the hands of a professional. "Listen asshole, 'cause I'm only gonna say this once. I'm having an incredibly bad day and I don't have time for insignificant piece of shit like you. Now," Dean flashed his grin that made the ladies swoon, "fuck off."

Warner gaped like a fish that had been kicked in the nuts. He took a jagged step towards Dean, invading Dean's space as he came to stand his nose in an effort to be intimidating. "You arrogant little prick!" the man snarled, throwing the furious words and spittle and Winchester as he looked up to glare in Dean's eyes. "You certainly talk big but everyone here knows that a little pus sack like you is here is only good for spreading your legs. You ought to learn how to talk to your superiors before someone puts you in your place."

Dean rolled his eyes. It was like prison all over again, but with different uniforms. "Yeah, whatever twinkle toes. I told you I don't have time for you today, so toddle off." Dean sidestepped the irate soldier, determined to make his way to the labs. He had alcohol to find and a dick in a camo condom wasn't going to stop him.

"Y'all won't be so tough when your brother is sipping soup through a straw."

Dean froze at the comment. He turned slowly on his heels to stare at the soldier, who was smiling with malicious glee.

"That's right," Warner purred. "I heard you sobbed like a baby when wittle Sammy was in the infirmary. If you don't learn your place we got plans to get him a frequent flyer card."

Dean dragged in a breath through his nose. The dude was bluffing, of course. First of all there was no way he'd risk his career to mess with Sam like that. Secondly, Sam was a tough little fucker. Year, Dean could still kick his ass, but Dean could do a lot of shit other people couldn't do. Sam could take care of himself. Thirdly, Dean had pulled Ronon aside and asked him to keep an eye on Sammy cause the kid had a target for weird tattooed to his ass, no matter what lifetime it was. So Sam was perfectly safe. There was no way that Warner and his inbred friends would be able to wait for Sam in one of the many empty hallways, jumping the kid and taking him by surprising in greater numbers so the group could beat him while they had the upper hand.

Okay. Fuck alcohol. Violence had just become the coping mechanism of choice.

Dean slowly turned on his heel, his smile gluing itself in place. "You want a piece of me?" He lifted his arms to the side and used his fingers to indicate his body. "Then come here and take a slice."

Warner's smile slid into the territory of smug. "To the gym. When I kick your ass I want everyone to see what a pathetic little pissant you really are."

Dean lifted his lips, showing his teeth. "Fine by me."

x-x-x-x

John strolled down the hallway, his hands resting deceptively easy in his pockets with his sleepy smile providing a blanket for the panic that was screeching in his veins. He needed to find Winchester before the kid opened his yak.

If he didn't…

John fisted his hands deeper into his pockets. If he didn't he'd end up back on Earth with a new shiny discharge and every officer who had known that Sheppard couldn't cut it, every one he'd shocked when he'd been promoted to lieutenant colonel, would clap their hands with glee and congratulate themselves for having known he'd fuck up. Maybe he could get a job flying commercial if he were lucky, but even then, once you've flown a puddle jumper there is really no going back.

God, he had been so fucking careful. He'd spent years flitting through women like sex would suddenly go out of style just so everyone would know what a goddamn lady's man John Sheppard was. He'd learned all the right things to say, all the right moves to make, and had made it so if anyone had known that the first time John had sex with a girl, back when they were both just seventeen and drunk beyond all sense, that the only reason he'd managed to come was because he'd spent the entire time thinking about her older brother they'd laugh themselves hoarse at their friend's good joke.

John turned down the hall. It was empty.

John had been careful, keeping his encounters with other men few and far between. It had been rough, but necessary. John needed to fly the way other people needed to breathe and he hadn't been willing to toss that away for a good tumble.

Until now.

It was McKay's fault: the stupid, brilliant, asshole McKay. The man was like a case of Necrotizing Fasciitis. You couldn't seem to get rid of the bastard and despite how much he burned he managed to grow on you.

And if John were tossed out he'd leave McKay behind on Atlantis, surrounded by Wraith.

It was unacceptable.

But this hallway was also empty and John couldn't seem to _find_ Dean. The city of Atlantis was huge and the Winchesters had already developed a reputation for being their own little island. Sure, Ronon spent a ridiculous amount of time with them but if Dean didn't want to be found asking Ronon for answers would be like trying to teach a stone to play fetch.

John was so fucked.

His radio clicked in his ear and John could feel a tension headache begin to build. "Sheppard here."

"Sir," Lorne's voice came over clear enough that John could hear something that boderlined wonder in it. "You need to see this."

John sighed. "Where?" Christ, he needed a clone or something.

"I'm in the gym."

x—x—x—x

Ronon had been going through PT maneuvers with Lorne and a handful of civilians when Dean Winchester walked through the door.

Ronon had actually blinked at the sight. He had been trying to get Winchester to spar with him ever since Carson had thrown the man out of the infirmary, Marie waving coyly from behind the Scottish doctor's back. Dean had deflected, making jokes but never really agreeing. Ronon had been tempted to drag him to the gym just for that but Sam had pulled Ronon over to the side, explaining that he and Dean needed to quit standing out. Ronon had backed off, instead taking another piece of the puzzle that was the Winchesters to mull over.

Ronon cocked his head as he watched Dean launch into a series of controlled stretches while the marine played on the radio. He didn't need to hear what was being said to know what was going on. Sure enough several marines trickled into the gym, circling the walls as they watched Dean warm up. Dean continued to limber himself, acting as though he was unaware of the enemies trickling in.

Lorne moved up beside Ronon. "Do we have a problem?" He eyed the growing crowd with trepidation.

"Maybe." A few more marines added to the crowd.

Ronon stalked across the room. Dean lifted from his bend, rising with a smile. "Hey big guy. What brings you here?"

Ronon glanced over the swelling crowd of marines. "Could ask you the same question," he grunted.

Dean pulled an arm across his chest, using his other to apply pressure. He tossed a careless look behind him before offering Ronon a lazy shrug. "Just a friendly little match." There was nothing friendly about Dean's tone of voice.

"Huh." Ronon turned, striding back to Lorne. "We have a problem."

Lorne frowned at the excited marines. He'd known that Dean wasn't popular but this was a bit ridiculous. The kid had spent most of his time on base in the infirmary. How the hell had he managed to piss off _everyone_?

"Solutions?"

"Get Sam."

Lorne sighed. "Alright people," he gave a cheery wave to the civilians. "That was some great work. I'll see you guys tomorrow." The civilians melted with relief that their PT had been cut short and began to gather their things. "Chuck," Lorne called. The gate technician set down his water bottle to give Lorne a doe-eyed stare. "Can you come here a minute?"

"Yes sir?" The man asked tentatively.

"I need you to go get Sam for me and tell him if he doesn't get his ass to the gym my marines are going to eat his brother alive." Ronon grinned a little at that.

"Yes sir!" Chuck nodded vigorously before disappearing through the door.

Ronon glanced over at the gathering crowd. "You should call Beckett."

"Nah," Lorne frowned. "The marines know better. They won't hurt him too badly."

Ronon grunted. It wouldn't be Dean needing the doctor.

Another man walked through the door and Ronon eyes narrowed at the figure of Captain Eliot Rousseau. The American soldier spotted the Runner and tossed him a grin and a sloppy salute before moving to join the circle around the mat. Dean's opponent grinned as he recognized the captain and took his place on the mat.

"Come on, Winchester," he called in his deep southern accent. "We don't have all day for you to freshen up."

Dean ignored the taunt and finished his stretch in his own time. He stepped onto the mat and slid into the same type of fighting stance that the actors used in all the movies Sheppard showed Dean.

Everyone laughed.

"Okay boy," Alabama smiled snidely, "being new and all you get the first hit."

Dean gave a dopey grin. "Okay."

Then he _moved._

All that was heard was the sound of Alabama hitting the mat. The marines took a collective breath as shock permeated the room as a civilian dropped one of their own in three seconds flat. Dean stood over and looked down on Alabama wearing a smile that Wraith could have been envious of.

Lorne tapped his radio. "Sir. You need to see this."

Ronon tuned Lorne out and continued to watch the scene a head of him unfold.

Dean gave a small roll of his shoulders. "I'm sorry. Was the first hit supposed to be lighter? I'm not military so I'm not positive how this whole thing works." The viscous sparkle in his eye undercut the naiveté of his statement.

Alabama glared and made his way back to his feet. "You're gonna regret that."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Can you be any more clichéd?" As Alabama began to circle Dean fell back into a fighting pose, but instead of comical posturing this stance was assured and well practiced. This stance was the reason Ronon had wanted to spar against Dean.

Alabama continued to circle Dean and the marines pressed a bit closer. Dean stayed loose and nonchalant, watching his opponent with an amusement that radiated the disdain Dean was feeling.

This time Alabama moved in first, swinging high. Dean swept the punch away with his arm and stepped to the side, forcing Alabama off balance. Dean dropped low into a sweeping kick, once again sending the marine sprawling across the mat. An excited buzz rippled through the crowd as people clued in to how this was going to go down. Lieutenant Laura Cadman's voice cut clearly through the general din.

"Ten bucks on Winchester!"

On the mat Alabama turned crimson and his jaw clenched with anger. He stood up and rolled his own shoulders. He took a stance silently this time and Ronon could see that the man had finally clued in that this wasn't going to be as easy as he expected.

Dean's grin became sincere. He'd been waiting for this.

x—x-x—x

Sam stepped into the gym and didn't know whether he should laugh or pound his head against the nearest wall until his skull cracked. Leave it to Dean to get into a bar brawl in a place that didn't even have a bar. Sam loved his brother but there were times when he seriously doubted that Dean was the older of the pair.

Dean stood in the center of a circle of cheering and hissing marines. Staff Sergeant Tracey Warner was eyeing Dean up like he was innocuous looking plant that had managed to give the man a rash, though judging by the look in Dean's eyes if Warner walked out of here with a rash the man would be getting off lucky. Hell, if the man walked out of here he'd be getting off lucky.

Sam ran a hand through his hair before edging his way along the crowd until he came to stand at Ronon's elbow. Surprisingly enough Dean didn't spot him, which just went to show how focused Dean was on tearing Warner down.

Warner swung, landing two good punches on Dean's ribs before he hit the mat with a particularly vicious crack. Dean stood above him and rolled his neck the way he did when he woke up from a particularly satisfying nap.

Sam didn't like Warner. The man was loud, abrasive, arrogant, vicious, and violent. If Ronon hadn't taken to following Sam when Dean wasn't Sam was fairly certain he would have come to blows with marine a long time ago.

That taken into consideration, Sam also hoped that the man would back off. He didn't know what he'd said, or what had happened with Sheppard, to get Dean on the mat but he knew his brother well enough to know that Dean would probably feel guilty later if things went too far.

Sam felt a thin bolt of relief shoot through him when Warner rose to his feet and lifted his hands in the standard 'I give' motion. He was still angry, but the man had to have some redeemable features or he never would have survived out here that long. Apparently knowing when to quit had served this guy well. Sam felt his shoulders ease, knowing that the fight was over.

"Awe, come on, Alabama. I thought we were here because the ruler on your nightstand was making you hyperaware of just how dickless you are. Now you're gonna run? That ain't gonna add that extra inch you are so desperately looking for."

Or not.

The crowd shuddered as it inhaled a breath as one. Sam watched the faces carefully, looking for some clue as to what the hell had gotten into Dean. Seriously, Sam hadn't seen Dean these eager to nail something since, well, Hell, and there had to be somebody in this room who knew what was going on. There was no way Dean was this wound from Sheppard telling him he had to learn to fly a plane. No, this was something else.

The pinched look on Captain Rousseau's face just confirmed it.

Warner lowered his hands, looking murderous. "Fuck you, Winchester."

Dean gave a lazy grin that was at odd with the knives in his tone. "And here I was under the illusion you didn't like me that way."

Warner gave a demon worthy cry as he launched himself forward with a punch. Dean was faster than the marine, who was used to being encumbered by gear, but also having his opponents in the same boat. Dean was used to fighting things that could move faster than the eye could track and he sidestepped the blow easily, catching the wrist and twisting the arm up. He used the leverage to once again force Warner to the mat.

Dean dropped the arm before his actions slipped outside the realm of fair play and took a step back. "Dude, you seriously suck. If we're gonna keep this up you're gonna need a buddy to give you a hand."

Lorne went to move forward, aware that Elizabeth and Rodney would both nail his ass if he let a civilian commit suicide by marine, but Ronon placed a restraining hand on the man's shoulder.

"He's going to get himself killed," Lorne murmured, watching the scene with unease.

Ronon snorted. "Sam?"

Sam grinned. Of course Ronon had seen him come in. The man was awesome like that. "Dean'll be fine. Sore but nothing that he won't deserve. He can handle his own," Sam assured.

Lorne frowned and opened his mouth to argue, but at that moment the gym doors opened and Colonel Sheppard stepped into the room. The man spotted Lorne and his companions immediately and began to make his way over.

In the ring Warner had once again risen to his feet. "I'm just going easy on you because I'm sure the owner of the prick you sucked to get here would be sad if I sent his golden boy home in pieces."

The crowd's "Oooo!" made Sam feel like he was back in high school.

Dean snorted. "Bullshit. I'm not even sweating yet. Do you know what that means?" Dean began to stroll around the mat, his eyes never leaving Warner. "It means that kicking your ass to the floor isn't even an effort for me, Alabama. Now do yourself a favor and call in for some back up. Like Roussy." Dean turned, tossing a careless glance over at Rousseau and Sam knew that his brother had planned this, had planned on getting both the men into the ring.

Sam pinched the bridge of this nose in an effort to soothe an oncoming headache.

Dean continued his showmanship in the ring. He turned fully and hit the crowd with a megawatt smile that was too sweet for Dean's face. "Isn't that right, Rousseau? You and Alabama are buds. After all, you introduced us." Dean's face went cold and hard, in the way that it had only ever been after Sam had died, before it slipped right back into a friendly smile. "Why don't you come give him a hand?"

Rousseau stepped forward and shed his shirt, handing it off to the side as he stepped into the ring. "I'm game, Winchester, but if we get an extra man shouldn't you call one in as well?" He offered the pretext of a light grin of his own. "We could let wittle Sammy in on this lesson as well."

Dean's face went pale with rage and Sam picked up another clue that had led to this moment and for just a second it felt like nothing had changed. Sam and Dean were still hunting from the back of the Impala and Dean was taking on shifters and demons and really stupid humans with his bare fists because they'd mussed Sam's hair.

Sam couldn't help himself. He laughed.

All eyes in the room snapped to him and Sam watched as Dean's eyes widened marginally before they narrowed, daring Sam to interfere. Sam gave his brother a cheeky smile before addressing Rousseau.

"Dude, I'm the tallest person in this city." Only by the half inch he had on Ronon, but a half-inch was a half-inch.

Rousseau cocked his head in a dare. "You gonna come help big brother?"

"I'll fetch him a water bottle when he's done because that's all the help he's going to need," Sam responded dryly.

Dean and Sam's eyes met. Sam could read the _glad you stayed out of it, bitch. _ His were conveying a _go kill him, jerk_. Dean's nod was a promise of victory. Dean stepped back in the ring, giving Rousseau time to stretch and Warner time to rest.

Behind Sam's elbow, John Sheppard spoke up. "I take it you two are having problems with the marines," John said conversationally.

"We're making all sorts of friends."

"Really." He could practically feel Sheppard's eyes burning holes in him. "And how long have you been making friends for?" Sam could feel the hairs on the back of his neck rise. In that moment Sheppard sounded just like Dean.

Sam said, "Awhile," and kept his gaze on his brother, who was, in turning, watching Rousseau warm up.

"Awhile," he echoed dryly. John crossed his arms.

Shit, the colonel thought. It was one of _those_ days. It had been a while since Atlantis had had one of _those _days, which meant that John should have been prepared for it. Then again, if he had been able to prepare for it it wouldn't have been one of _those _days.

Like when there had been the storm. Not only had a weather front threatened to sink Atlantis, leading to a full-blown evacuation, but the Genii had also decided it would be a great day to invade John's city. Two of John's marines had been killed, a whole bunch of much needed medical supplies had been stolen, Rodney had been tortured, Carson had been concussed, Elizabeth had almost been kidnapped and, to top it all off, Koyla had survived the bullet John had put in him.

Today was just one of _those _days on a more personal level. Not only had John discovered that he actually going to have to face the whole guilt trip he was having with regards to the Winchesters, one of said Winchesters had discovered John and Rodney's relationship and now John was discovering that his marines hadn't been playing nice with the new kids. To top it all off John hadn't gotten any taboo office sex either.

Well, maybe John's problems would solve themselves and Dean would manage to get himself killed. John winced the moment the thought had passed through his head. It wasn't true and it wasn't fair. It was John's own fault that Dean had caught him and that didn't change the fact that John was still the military commander and while he was in control no one was going to pound a civilian flat.

Judging by the grim look on Lorne's face John's XO also hadn't known the developing tensions, which just served to piss John off further. It was their job to make sure shit like this didn't happen, but this was too far gone for them to stop. With the way Dean had been running his mouth off there was no way to get him out of this with out making things worse until after Winchester had taken a few bruises.

John rocked onto his heels, making himself comfortable as he watched the ring. Rousseau had finished stretching. Sergeant Warner handed back the towel that someone had passed to him and together they stepped up, ready to fight.

Dean smiled.

Then he _moved._

He went for Warner first, feinting a cross punch that morphed into a grab as Warner went for the predictable block. Rousseau threw a low jab that connected with Warner as Dean twisted the man and pushed him at his ally. Warner doubled under the blow but continued to stumble forward. Rousseau sidestepped and Warner was caught by the crowd.

Rousseau surged forward, catching Dean in the gut with his fist. Dean grunted but stepped forward as Rousseau drew his fist back, getting past Rousseau's guard and responding with his own fist. The blow caught the captain in the chest and the crowd could practically hear the air rushing out of the man's lungs.

Warner launched himself from the side, grabbing Dean and pushing the kid sideways. Dean stumbled back into a role, hooking his knees under Warner's gut and launching the man back at the crowd. More specifically, back into Cadman, who, being the lady that she was, sidestepped instead of catching her fellow soldier. Warner hit the floor with a loud crack.

Dean staggered to his feet in time to take a punch to the jaw. He spun with the momentum, using it to launch into a haymaker that caught Rousseau upside the temple. Rousseau grabbed his head, probably in an effort to make the world stop spinning.

Dean didn't give him the chance. He linked his fists and brought them straight down, hitting Rousseau in the back with the edges of his hands. Rousseau sprawled forward. The man twisted, rolling onto his back in a daze.

John didn't realize he was gaping until he closed his mouth with a snap.

Dean placed one booted foot carefully on Rousseau's chest. He knelt forward, placing weight on the boot and whispered that only Rousseau could here. Whatever Dean said caused the soldier to flush.

Dean patted the man's cheek before standing up and stretching. He gave the crowd a little way. "Shows over folks." Instead of dispersing the crowd surged forward. Dean had a second of looking panicked before Cadman slapped him hard on the back. John could tell by the size of her grin that the explosive expert had won some money of the whole encounter.

Sam shook his head, watching as Dean looked more and more cornered as more and more marines started bombarding him with questions. As much as Dean could be brilliant he had absolutely no foresight.

Dean looked up, his eyes screaming for help. Sam just smirked. Dean got himself into this one, he could get himself out. Sam slipped out of the gym, laughing softly as he felt Dean's glare on his back.

He didn't realize he was being followed until he was by the transporter. Colonel Sheppard called out, "Hey, wait up!"

Sam pulled to the side and cocked his head. The man had been avoiding Sam as though the kid had been giving off odor and while Sam understood that type of guilt he was curious as to what the colonel needed to say to him. He had a sneaking suspicion that it had a bit to do with the meeting that Dean had had with the man.

"So," John drawled, "apparently Dean can fight."

"Yeah. He can." The pair stood in the hall for a moment in the heavy silence.

"So why didn't you tell anyone you two were having problems with the marines?" John rocked back and crossed his arms at the question, staring expectantly at Sam for an answer.

Sam took a step back, surprised by the line of questioning. "It was nothing we couldn't handle," he answered with a soft smile.

"And was that your way of handling it?" John tossed his head towards the gym.

Sam gave a guilty shrug. "Dean was having a bit of a bad day and it sounds like somebody pushed." He waved his hands to convey that Dean was really only human.

John's smile matched Dean's angry grin. It was a bit eerie. "And you didn't think that somebody in charge would need to know that the men weren't behaving?" Even the pleasant tone that hid the boiling rage was almost identical.

Sam responded the same way he would have to Dean. He opened his eyes wide and looked at his toes before looking up through his bangs with a pleading expression. "We didn't want to upset anyone else." John's face was a mask of disbelief and Sam found the words tumbling out of him. "Look, I know no one knows why I'm here and I know that it makes a lot of people unhappy because they put in a lot of effort to be here. Dean and I both get that. There is simply no point antagonizing people who a legitimate reason to be upset. Either they'll start to like us or they won't. It's not really a big deal."

John's flat look showed he wasn't buying it. "That was no big deal? Christ." He shook his head with disbelief. "You're a fucking kid. You're a kid who nearly died your first week here, has been being harassed by my marines and you are just a janitor here. You aren't exploring, killing bad guys or making new breakthroughs in science. Why are here? There has to be a better option on Earth, so why don't you just go back?"

Sam gave a desperate little laugh. "We're safer here."

Sheppard blinked. "Excuse me?"

Sam gave another smile, but he could feel that it was a bit wobbly. "Look, I've gotta go." He stepped into the transport and Atlantis slammed the doors shut. Sam picked a random destination, cursing his big mouth. He'd told John too much, but damn.

The man really did look like Dean.

X_X_X_X_X

Confusion Clear Ups

DADT- this story is set in 2004ish so Don't Ask, Don't Tell is still firmly in effect. For those who don't know it is the military policy of discharging members of service for being gay. It has recently been repealed but is still in the process of being phased out of the American military.

Sam, Ruby and Blood- Seasons 4&5- Sam gets addicted to Demon Blood because it boosted his psychic powers. Unfortunately, it also made him reckless, violent and crazy and that was when he wasn't in withdrawal.

Chuck's age- the actor was born in 1969. His name is… Chuck Campbell! The man was a nameless technician on the show and billed as such until Torri Higginson (Elizabeth) accidentally called him 'Chuck' during filming and the director decided to keep it, which is how Chuck became Chuck.

Punching in the Face- Season 2, Everybody Loves a Clown. Sam tries to get Dean to talk about his feelings and Dean decks him.

Tracey Warner-If you don't recognize Dean's nickname the man was in Chp 5 of Puddle Jumping where he was nicknamed Deep South. They are one and the same.

Katie Brown-The Botanist Rodney was dating. See Duet season 2 for a glimpse into their relationship.

XO -executive officer, aka 2nd in charge.

Genii Invasion-Season 1- The Storm, The Eye (2 ep arc)

Necrotizing Fasciitis- Flesh Eating Disease

Shifters- Season 1- Skin, Season 3 Nightshifter

Humans- Season 1- The Benders, Season 4- Family Remains

Use of the word faggot- While it was appropriate for the context of the fight I am going to come out and say I hate that word. I think it is small minded and offensive. For those who go "it just means a bundle of sticks" the reason for that association was that during the witchhunts, witches and dissenters were burned. Homosexuals were seen as so sub human that they weren't burned, they were tied together and used as fuel for the fire so witches could be burned. So my apologies to those who I've offended.

AN-Sorry this was so late. I'm graduating which means I'm job hunting, house hunting, studying and doing project all at the same time and to make matters just peachy I've been really sick. But here you guys go, cause I love you and all that jazz. I hope you enjoyed this and I'll have more up when I can, but any semblance of a schedule is basically toast until my life gets less crazy.


	3. Bed Rest and Bird's Nests

**Faustian Hopscotch**

Chapter 3

Bed Rest and Bird's Nests

* * *

Dean woke to an incessant buzzing, the taste of old socks and the smell of strawberries and sex.

He couldn't help the self satisfied grin that crept across his face and had to resist the urge to stick his tongue out at any higher beings that might have been watching, the meddling voyeurs. His quest to find one method of coping had ended with him finding all three and making the satisfying discovery that Atlantis's homebrew was as amazing as the city itself. Apparently kicking ass the way he had was a good enough reason for the soldiers to throw an impromptu party with all the stops. Dean had been wined, dined, and when a sly smile with a naughty invitation was passed his way Dean felt that saying no would have been down right impolite.

And Sam bitched that he had no manners.

He felt more relaxed than he had since Sam had left for that damn school of his. Sure, Stanford made Sam happy but so far it was also two for two on ruining Sam's chances of a happy, normal life. Dean would never admit it, but he was a bit worried that Stanford had brought some of Sam's past life memories to the front and center instead of letting the kid heal from them. Between Jessica, Madison, and that hell bitch, it was understandable that Sam would be messed up about chicks for a while, but the kid hadn't even made the effort to get back on that horse. Dean had actually been waiting for the phone call where Sam found this reality's Jessica and the fact that it never came still bothered him.

A face sighed into his chest before the scent of strawberries faded. Laura Cadman rolled over and gave her alarm a gentle tap and the damn thing shut up. Dean watched as she stretched on the bed, her strawberry blond hair shimmering in the morning sun. She looked up at caught his gaze, flashing a coy one of her own. Man, she was hot. Maybe he should see if she'd sleep with Sam. The things she could do with her mouth would cure any man of his reservations about the opposite sex.

"Why hello there," she whispered, bringing her lips to Dean's ear. He shivered as her breath traced its way along his jaw before dabbing a soft kiss into his morning stubble. His breath hitched as her lips traced his ear again and he almost missed what she had to say.

"What?" he asked a bit stupidly.

Cadman rolled her eyes at him before rolling herself out of the bed. The blanket slipped, revealing her skin in its most glorious state. The soft glow of twilight caught on her alabaster curves and, had it not been for the ragged state of her, she would have looked like an ethereal angel fallen to heaven.

She had certainly performed like one. Dean was an expert on this sort of thing.

"You have three minutes to get your ass out of my room. Better get a move on." She winked before turning to face the window. She dipped into a stretch, touching her toes and giving Dean a view that was just cruel with the time limit she set before she began to tidy up the floor, sorting clothes that had been carelessly tossed aside and fixing pictures that had been knocked down in their wake the previous night.

"I thought you liked my ass!" _Dean_ was being thrown out? That never happened! Sure, there had been a few times where he'd had to pull a mad dash because someone had an over protective father, but he had always been the one to leave. The fact that the shoe was on the other foot now was unjust. It was unfair.

Actually, it was kinda refreshing.

Laura didn't look as she continued to tidy up her room, righting things they had knocked over and sorting the clothes strewn about the floor. "I do, which is why you get three minutes instead of one." She stiffed before turning to give him a suspicious glare. "You know what last night was, right? You don't think we're dating and that I'm going to bring you flowers while you cook for me? Right?" The last question was also a challenge.

Dean's grin grew even wider. "Don't call you. You'll call me. Gotcha." He threw her a wink before rolling out of bed. His pants were draped over a picture of her parents and he tactfully turned it away before he shimmied into them. He began hunting for the rest of his clothes when he paused, tossing her a concerned look. "Do I still get to call you muffin?"

His underwear hit him in the face.

x-x-x-x-x-x-

Rodney McKay had a way with people. It wasn't necessarily a good way, and it was certainly an unpopular way, but it was his way and it did have the benefit of ensuring that things were done his way. It required a certain delicacy that was definitely underappreciated by all who knew Rodney. After all, reducing a grown man to tears and still having him show up the next day to submit the paper he should have just submitted in the first place took a misunderstood fineness. It was the understanding of this art that ensured that 'Rodney' and 'broken jaw' were not used in the same sentence.

There were drawbacks, of course. Rodney had the reputation for being an unsociable bastard despite the fact that his parents had been very married when he was conceived. Rumor had it that the linguistics department was actually going so far as to attempt to create a new phrase to sufficiently sum up just how much of an insufferable ass Rodney was, but were failing since no one is the real sciences would consider a primal scream of rage to be an actual word. So Rodney's method was definitely not making him any friends. Which was fine. Rodney didn't need friends. Really. He had his method.

On Earth this method kept Rodney knee deep in politics and got him transferred to places like Russia because he offended a certain hot dumb blonde's sensibilities.

On Atlantis it got shit done.

Rodney didn't bother to hide his smirk as he watched his scientists orbit around him, like the notes of an orchestra around the conductor. They weren't leaving until tomorrow, but those who were participating in Weed Out the Biggest Idiots Week were already cataloguing their experiments and moving them to where they could be safe until they could be resumed. That which couldn't be paused was being passed off to trusted individuals, with bribes and threats acting as the official currency. Well, most people were using bribes. Rodney had threatened to permanently alter Radek's screensaver if the Czech let damage befall his city in any way, shape or form. The fact that Radek had shooed him and told him to go 'find his colonel' left Rodney with the distinct impression that he might have to change Radek's screensaver anyway, because the man seemed to be forgetting that Rodney McKay was someone who followed through with his threats.

Maybe he'd make it say "π=3". That'd teach him.

Wait.

What did Radek mean by 'his colonel'?

Rodney stopped mid-step, his jaw hanging open. He _almost_ went back to the lab to demand just exactly what the hell Zelenka had meant by that, but he knew if Zelenka hadn't meant anything by it and Rodney made it seem like it meant something, not that it did, then John would be the one dealing with the aftermath and while Rodney was fairly certain that Zelenka had meant something he wasn't sure if it was a something that was a big deal or if it was a something that should be ignored, or if it was only something that was meaningful to Rodney.

"My colonel," Rodney said the phrase out loud, just to test it. After all if he was going to make a rational decision he needed all of the empirical data he could get and such data could only be obtained through experimentation, and in order for such experimentation to occur the subject was going to have to be present.

Not that Rodney thought that Elizabeth would ship John off if she thought he was involved with Rodney, no matter what American Military policy was. Elizabeth had ensured that John, not Caldwell, was Atlantis's Military CO, and that John had gone from a Major to Lieutenant Colonel. Elizabeth had moved proverbial mountains to keep John in the city and she wasn't one to see her hard work undone by some underage peeping tom who couldn't keep his mouth shut. This meant that either Rifle the shorter would have to either keep his yap closed or go higher up the ladder. Considering the strength of the kid's gene and the secrecy with which he had arrived, higher up the ladder was going to be high enough to go over Elizabeth's head, which meant that John really could be forced to leave Atlantis which means that Rodney would either have to give up John or Atlantis and Rodney didn't want to give up either.

So he wouldn't.

Rodney shook himself out of his stupor and gave a surreptitious check to make sure he was alone before he began marching down the hallway. Something must have shown on his face because scientists and marines alike gave him wide berth as he walked by. Had he noticed he probably would have felt a little thrill at the power he wielded and would have mentally thumbed all the kids who had ever picked on him. Instead he continued to review his options, promising himself he'd at least talk to John before he had to do something drastic like plant a bomb in the kid's toilet.

Not that he would. He was Rodney McKay. He would never stoop so low as to copy a stupid idea from a bad movie starring Mel Gibson and his terrible hair, especially when that was a surefire way to get himself caught. Bombs were a tool to be used for affect and impact, not to be used on a single individual unless one was trying to make a statement, and if Rodney wanted to make a statement he'd just state it and skip getting viscera in his hair.

No, if it came to that Rodney wouldn't get caught. He was the smartest man in two galaxies. Plus he had heard all about the ass Rifle had kicked last night, and he had no intention of winding up a smudge on a gym mat.

Not that Rodney actually thought it would come to that. It was the back up plan. It was actually the back up plan for the back up plan that was behind the plan that he wasn't actually going to talk to John about first, because John had this weird guilt thing where the Rifles were concerned and Rodney wasn't going to let something as small as emotional angst come between him and frequent sex. It was a beautiful plan and Rodney hadn't even had to waste much time coming up with it.

It was, in fact, this brilliant plan that had him up ridiculously early to make it to the mess hall where he had proceeded to badger the poor schmuck on duty until he had relented and allowed McKay to take as many of the fresh muffins/scone things as he wanted. Rodney had only eaten one, which was an exercise in control and willpower. The things smelt like honey and tasted even better, with this strange nut aftertaste. And they didn't even have a hint of citrus. The fruit they were made from was grown only on one planet and the locals there were zealous in keeping it that way, keeping the fruit expensive. Capitalist assholes. Rodney had Katie Brown from botany seeing if she could figure out a way to make the plant grow without having the seeds for the damn thing and when she did he was going to drop seeds on every planet he went to just to show them up for being greedy jerks.

Proud and confident, Rodney made his way through Atlantis to a very specific door and didn't ever consider that the occupant might not be there. He gave three sharp knocks and waited patiently, only bouncing on his heals twice in the four seconds it took before he rapped on the door again. He was practically humming when it opened and the door filled with the mammoth frame of Ronon Dex.

Rodney's prepared conversation died before it ever reached his lips, although his mind cursed himself a fool in every language he knew, including Klingon, even as part of it whined that despite being a genius, he wasn't omnipotent. He shouldn't blame himself because there was no way he could have predicted this.

Ronon answered the door wearing nothing but a pair of loose, drawstring sweats. That, combined with the haphazard way half his dreadlocks were reaching for space and the random yet familiar veins of red indents that were imbedded into one side of his body, including one line that crossed under his eye to make him look particularly ominous today, had Rodney realizing one thing.

He had woken Ronon up.

Hell, Rodney hadn't even known that Ronon slept. Logically, it could be assumed that he did but as of before this moment there hadn't actually been any empirical evidence that the Satedan's body needed more than food to keep it running. Rodney was on the same team as Ronon and he had never seen anything that suggested Ronon slept. There was no nightwear, no yawns close to midnight, no complaints of fatigue, no surly morning look and certainly no moment of actually spotting Ronon asleep.

And now he had woken Ronon up.

While Rodney's mind continued to berate him, survival instinct raised its wonderful head and took over, channeling through Rodney's mouth in an attempt to save the body from permanent harm.

"Ronon. Um, hi. Uh, nice pants. I can see that you are a very busy man so I'm just gonna go, head that way, back to my lab where I'm supposed to be and will definitely be missed if I were to suddenly die a horrible and painful death, so yeah I should get back and do… sciency… things." McKay spun fast enough to make himself dizzy and was already headed towards safety when he felt a massive clamp ensnare his arm. He turned, his crystal blue eyes cartoonishly wide

"What do you want?" Ronon's voice was like a mudslide rushing down a mountain.

Rodney licked his lips, giving his voice time to crawl out of his throat. "Look, um, I was ah, wondering if you could tell Rifle the shorter that if he doesn't keep his mouth shut you would break both of his legs and toss him in the ocean. Not that you would have to, I mean, if he talked. I'm actually going to blow up his toilet if he talks, but I'm not really scary so if I told him I was going to blow up his toilet and he'd probably just laugh so I need you to do it cause you have the whole Conan the Barbarian thing and when you tell people you can break them in half they believe you, so if you could just threaten him so I don't actually have to blow him up I'd really appreciate it. Not that I'd blow him up. I'm way too clever to do something like that and it would really defeat the purpose of talking to you if I went and got myself thrown in the brig, so I'd probably-" A hand slamming into the wall made Rodney pause. It did not make him emit a squeak. A very manly, brave, courageous squeak. Anyone would have squeaked. Ronon was scary. "I have three bars of chocolates and five of the muffins they were serving this morning if you'll do it," Rodney finished with a rush.

Ronon frowned down at Rodney. "I want the muffins up front."

Rodney beamed. "I'll go grab them."

Ronon shook his head. "I'll pick them up." With that he released Rodney's arm.

McKay rushed off, absolutely thrilled that once again his own genius was going to save John from certain doom and this time it was costing him chocolate. From his stash. Well, Kavanaugh's stash that became Rodney's stash when the man didn't do a good enough job hiding it. Either way, chocolate was chocolate. His colonel had better appreciate that.

In fact, after Rodney was done with Ronon he should go find John. They never did get to have taboo office sex.

x-x-x-x-x-x

There was a hand buried in Sam's chest. It was buried deep, with only the very edge of the wrist peaking out from under Sam's torn shirt before the wrist smoothed itself into a masculine arm.

Sam sighed.

"What's wrong, Sammy?" Sam looked across at his brother, annoyed. Dean's clear green eyes were filled only with concern.

"This was my favorite shirt."

Dean gave a brief shrug, the motion of the shoulder causing the hand he had buried in Sam's chest to wiggle a bit. "If you want, I can go."

Sam clamped a hand onto Dean's arm, pulling his brother's hand deeper into his chest. "Please, don't." He could feel the panic beginning to spread though his chest, radiating from Dean's hand.

Dean gave a soft, sad smile. "I have to, Sammy. Can't you hear them?"

Sam could. Over the growl of the Impala's engine Sam could hear the snarling of dogs. "We could leave. Go somewhere safe."

It was Dean's turn to sigh. "You are so stupid, Sammy."

Sam blinked at his brother. "I don't understand."

Dean leaned in close, his hot breath whispering against Sam's neck. "You never do. Not until it's too late."

Sam wanted to ask Dean what he meant. He was going to, but as the body pulled back Sam could only gasp. He stared at the hand in horror, noting how blood had begun to flow around the hand, sliding over it with a caress before it dripped to the floor at Sam's feet.

Sam looked up, but the question he had for Dean died as his mouth filled with blood. John Sheppard stood, watching Dean walk away while holding Sam's lungs, one in each hand. Dean disappeared out of sight and for a moment, the sound of barking faded.

It was replaced with screams a moment later.

Sam went to take a step forward but his legs gave out. He hit the ground and he could feel the way the impact rattled through him, splitting the skin across his stomach and rattling the growing tightness in his chest. He desperately brought up an arm, trying to hold his guts in, but they slid through his fingers like spaghetti. His shoulders heaved as he tried to shovel them back in, silent sobs and blood spilling from his mouth.

John crouched across from his, watching the display with contempt in his yellow eyes. "Come on Sam. You can do better than that."

John brought a hand up and bit into Sam's lung, the organ crunching like an apple.

Sam opened his eyes in horror before a gentle light made him turn his head. He brought up an arm to shield his eyes, trying to peak over it at the approaching figure. A voice that sounded like the ocean tide pulled at him. "Wake up, Sammy."

Sam tried to answer, but he couldn't as John took another bite out of his lung.

The voice tugged again. "Wake up, Sammy."

Sam wanted to throw up as John polished off the organ, licking the blood from his fingertips as though he were some type of cat. His yellow eyes took on a calculating look as he smiled Dean's smile and looked at the other lung.

"Wake up, Sammy."

Hazel eyes popped open, immediately squeezing shut as they were seared by the room's ceiling lights. Sam moaned, or at least he would have, but his lungs weren't with the program. His back arched as he gasped, his body heaving to drag in the air his mind had denied him during his nightmare and the last dregs of sleep were washed away by pure adrenaline. He clamped his mouth shut, forcing himself to take a long rattling breath through his nose, and then another, and then another, until his breathing was even, if still a bit shaky, concentrating on the swirls on the ceiling of the room he and Dean unofficially shared in Atlantis.

Feeling himself gain a little control he moved to sit up, wincing as his muscles pulled at the act. It took all of his willpower to lift his head, knowing the Dean's concerned gaze would have watched the whole scene, waiting until Sam was ready before confronting him about the nightmare.

Dean wasn't there.

Sam was in a wing on the other side of the city before higher brain function and Atlantis cut through his panic enough to get him to catalogue the facts. He pressed his back against the wall, his t-shirt riding up as he slid down, trying to ignore the way his body was shaking as he rationalized with himself, not even aware that part of his mind was griping at Atlantis like a teddy bear.

He could feel Dean. He and his brother didn't know why they always had an inkling as to where the other was, but they did, and the inkling always grew into something more as they got closer. Dean had always marked it down to twin telepathy before wrecking Sam's hair and running off to locate some pie. Sam, on the other hand, always had a sneaking suspicion that it was something Gabriel had done. This suspicion had only grown as Dean once admitted that Gabriel had promised him an eternity with Sam. Whatever the cause, Sam could tell which direction Dean was and if he were close, something Sam doubted he would be able to do if his brother had been eaten by hellhounds that didn't even exist in this reality.

Plus the city didn't seem at all concerned, and Sam was fairly certain that if Dean were in trouble Atlantis would make sure that everybody knew it. Instead she seemed to be focusing on making sure Sam didn't do anything stupid, meaning that Dean was indeed behaving himself for once in his life.

Dean also hadn't returned to the room before Sam went to sleep a whopping two hours ago, and judging by the display his brother had put on in the gym and the way the marines had been eyeing him up after his popularity surged, wherever Dean was it was unlikely and was sleeping and he most certainly wasn't alone.

Sam let out a derisive snort feeling like a small child jumping at shadows. He'd had nightmares before, he'd have them again and he'd learn to deal with them on his own. Just because Sam couldn't figure out his own shit was no reason to drown Dean in it.

Hauling himself off the floor on shaky legs Sam stumbled through the hallway, grateful for Atlantis's watchful eye. But instead of returning to his room Sam worked his way towards the dock where he and Dean had spent their first night. He ignored the way the icy metal bit into his bare feet and the wet breeze caused goosebumps to rise on his exposed legs, sitting on the edge of the pier and gazing at Atlantis's broken reflection in the midnight ocean, letting the sound of waves clear his mind. He wasn't going to be getting any more sleep this night, but maybe he could find some peace of mind.

This was how Ronon found him, sitting the damp cold and shuddering like a stubborn idiot.

There were no questions, no words exchanged. Ronon just grabbed Sam by a cold wrist and began leading him back to the city. When Sam stumbled on numb legs, Ronon threw him over his shoulder. When he made it back to his own quarters he unceremoniously dumped the now shivering Sam on the bed. Ronon pushed Sam over, clearing up enough space for him to also drop on the bed and covered them both in a fur skin. He wrapped on arm over Sam, pulling the kid close to let his body heat seep through the boy's damp clothes.

"Sorry," Sam mumbled, though Ronon doubted the kid knew what he was apologizing for.

The Runner grunted. "Go to sleep."

They both did. And neither of them dreamed.

x-x-x-x-x-x

The Stargate rippled as Jumpers slid through it, moving surprisingly gracefully for an aircraft shaped like a brick. They settled a fair distance from the gate and marines flowed from them like ants from a hive. Just because the civilians had another day of leisure didn't mean the military did. John Sheppard directed his men efficiently as they began to set up for the next two weeks and those who didn't know him would have thought that he was rather relaxed about the whole thing.

At least, they did until they relaxed too.

Those who were part of the original expedition to Atlantis immediately caught on the Sheppard's mood and they reacted accordingly, sliding in to their best behavior while watching John with careful eyes.

Most of those who had arrived on the Daedalus long enough ago that they had already passed the boot camp they were helping setting up were confused and some were suspicious, wondering if John's passive aggressive temper was some strange side effect of the whole bug incident. Many of them made mental notes to speak to Dr. Beckett but since Dr. Beckett was in the city there was little to be done in the mean time, so they followed the example of the more senior personnel and their best not to draw attention to themselves. They were smart enough to get assigned to Atlantis only after the city had contact with Earth and they were smart enough to make sure they stayed here.

The last group, those fresh off of Caldwell's ship, were dismayed and horrified at the man they found leading the group. They had all heard stories of Lieutenant Colonel Sheppard and how he was one to toe the line, spit on it, then do things his own way. They had all formed their own idea of the man, tempered with others descriptions of him as being easygoing, laidback, and unconventional. The man verbally gutting them was nothing like the man they imagined. So they did their best, floundering under a lazy tone filled with words that cut deeper than razors.

Everyone spent the day surviving Colonel Sheppard, trying to predict what would set him off and why he was upset in the first place. Those who had figured it out weren't sharing, mostly because their best behavior didn't include pointing out the obvious.

So the marines kept on eye on their Colonel.

They would have been better served keeping an eye on the trees.

x-x-x-x-x-x

The sound of knocking bothered Sam less than the sudden loss of heat. This was partly because Dean was always in the bed closest to the door but mostly because his head was filled with warm fuzzies telling it was being handled. This, combined with the fog of a great night's rest, kept Sam lying on his side as the door was answered, snuggling deeper into the soft furs in an attempt to reclaim his previous levels of warmth.

Wait. Fur?

Sam blinked around owlishly as he propped himself up on an elbow, trusting Atlantis as she told him he was safe but still going with his instinct to figure out where the hell he was. The sound of Dr. McKay's voice growing shrill with panic only added to Sam's confusion of the morning until Ronon's soft rumble filled the air.

Sam sat up properly, half-heartedly berating himself for his asinine behavior of the previous night. Sitting on the docks in shorts and a t-shirt definitely didn't qualify as 'I'm doing fine' behavior and while being found and rescued from his own neurosis was better than freezing to death, Sam really wished it had been someone other than Ronon. He really didn't want the man to think any less of Sam and couldn't decide if Ronon tucking him in like an errant child was a good sign or a bad.

He could feel Ronon's eyes burning into his back as he heard the door shut and closed his own, dropping his head so he wouldn't have to see any judgment in Ronon's gaze.

"I thought you were asleep." Ronon's voice gave little away, as usual.

Sam just shrugged. "I thought I heard you agree to threaten Dean." His tone was only slightly defensive.

"You did." He felt the bed dip under Ronon's weight. "I was going to do it anyway. Your brother owes me a fight." Sam didn't really have anything to say to that, so he kept silent, letting Ronon make the next move. "Know what's going on?"

It was vague enough to be a loaded question. Do you know why McKay's mad at Dean? Do you know why Dean is suddenly exerting his machismo in ways you both decided against? Do you know why your brother is an asshat?

"No," Sam responded, his shoulders sagging.

Ronon grunted. "I'll have to beat it out of him."

Sam turned, looking at Ronon for the first time since waking. He could see the man's sculpted chest, his eyes flitting over various scars and instinctively trying to catalogue their sources. There was a strange one in the center of Ronon's chest, almost directly over the heart, that Sam had no hope of being able to place. His gaze traveled up, dragging itself away from Ronon's torso to look into his face. Ronon's eyes glinted with both humor and anticipation and Sam could almost taste how badly Ronon wanted to spar with Dean. There was something else, something small and furtive lurking in Ronon's eyes and Sam found it both unnerving and fascinating. If this had been anyone else but Ronon, Sam would have claimed that the person looked nervous. If there had been a mirror Sam would have seen the look in his own. Uncomfortable, Sam broke Ronon's gaze.

Only to burst out laughing.

Ronon frowned, glancing at the door to see if he had missed something. Noting nothing, he studied Sam intensely and Sam was certain he was looking for signs of illness. Gasping and laughing, Sam motioned to his own head before spitting out an explanation. "Your hair! It's ridiculous."

Ronon carefully brought a hand up to his dreadlocks, feeling the way some of them were sticking out. He frowned, reaching his hand out to the young man laughing at his side. Sam could only gasp in shock as Ronon ruffled his own hair, leaving it a tangled mess. "There," Ronon puffed. "Now we match."

Sam snorted as he futilely combed at his locks. "I guess we do." He sighed. "I should go."

As arm snaked around his chest and Sam yelped in surprise as Ronon's weight pulled him back onto the mattress. "You can go when I'm done sleeping."

Sam blinked at the face that was too close to his. "What?" he squawked.

Ronon pulled Sam a little closer. "I get cold when I sleep. You're warm."

"So I'm your hot water bottle?"

Sarcasm was lost on Ronon he relaxed deeply into the mattress. It took Sam a few seconds to realize the man had drifted to sleep and several minutes of kicking and squirming to admit that, even while asleep, Ronon was stupidly strong. Sam cursed his twenty year-old body, longing for the muscle mass he had been packing at twenty-seven. With his current strength there was no way that Sam could escape the grip the man had him in, so Sam let his head drop back as he resigned himself to the inevitable.

Atlantis gave a contented hum as both humans slept under her tender gaze.

X_X_X_X_X_X_X

Confusion Clear Ups

-Rodney McKay once hacked into John Sheppard's files because he could, and was surprised when John being qualified to join MENSA hadn't been mentioned there.

-Dean totally had sex with a fallen Angel named Anna.

-Sam witness Jessica being murdered by the same demon who killed his mother, Madison asked Sam to shoot her when she found out she was a werewolf, and the 'hell bitch' is Ruby, who turned Sam into an addict, tricked him into starting the apocalypse, and may have genuinely had a thing for him.

-π does _not_ equal 3!

**AN-**HA! There! There it is! Chapter 3! Finally! I cannot tell you guys how many times I wrote this chapter! I honestly have about 20 half completed versions! The wait for chapter 4 will be way shorter. Sorry about the wait and I hope it was totally worth it.


	4. If I Had My Way

Disclaimer- I's fan fic. 'nough said.

**Faustian Hopscotch**

Chapter 4

If I Had My Way

Everything was different.

Sam hadn't noticed right away, because whatever had changed was something that Ronon was immune to. That alone didn't reveal much because the word on Atlantis was that Ronon was impervious to the common cold, bullet wounds, and everything in between. Judging by the lack of angry marines and panicked scientists and sniffles, Sam figured this was an in between thing, but since Dean was still off being Dean he couldn't actually be sure.

The first inkling Sam had that things were different came when he showed up to his shift. The man who ran the sanitation department, a British fellow who was known only as Dr. Baker, was a detail oriented perfectionist that had traded his sense of humor for the ability to find fault with everything. Dr. Baker was one of those people who had managed to get through life by lecturing the parts he didn't enjoy to death, his monotone voice heavy like a mudslide as his flat brown eyes caught every guilty twitch with satisfied vindication. On days when Sam and Dean both managed to arrive early and in perfectly laundered uniforms, Dr. Baker had taken to criticizing Dean's lax grammar and Sam's slumped posture. Today, Sam was, thanks to Ronon's interference, late, out of uniform, and under-caffeinated. Just to add a cherry to the ice cream Sunday, Dean was nowhere in sight.

Sam approached to sign in, his eyes carefully glued to the floor as he prepared himself for a lecture that, for once, he deserved.

"Afternoon, Samuel," Dr. Baker greeted with something that could have almost been mistaken for enthusiasm by anyone who had never met the man.

"Good afternoon, Dr. Baker," Sam mumbled back, wincing as he realized he was only giving the man more ammunition.

He could feel Dr. Baker's eyes as they raked over him, taking in the disheveled appearance and no doubt fully aware of the time. "Where might your brother be at?" Sam slammed his hands into his pocket and shrugged, feeling like a kid called to the front of class to be reamed out by the teacher. Dr. Baker let out a knowing "Hmmm." Sam winced.

"It has been a rather trying day. The chemist department has been clumsier than usual in their haste to prepare for tomorrow's training, and xenobiology still has not been able to create a satisfactory pen for that beast the dragged back from PX4-2N2. Several of the hallways and a few of the catwalks have fallen victim to last night's impromptu revelry. There was also an altercation in the mess hall this morning when the staff ran out of muffins and resorted to serving a high-nutrient gruel to latecomers."

Sam swallowed as Dr. Baker's stare flicked back to him with a weight of its own. He tried not to let his anxiety show, but Sam knew there was no way he was going to get out of cleaning the xenobiology labs. It was the worst out of all the jobs left and had probably been saved just for the Winchesters. The labs smelled unpleasant at the best of times and the most recent addition to the specimen list was some sort of haired snake. The animal was boneless and the cartilage that served as its skeleton was one that the creature had the ability to digest in order to slip through small spaces. It had been graced with the unoriginal name of Houdini. Some of the scientists believed that nothing short of an airtight container could hold it, but none would test the theory because they didn't want to suffocate poor Houdini. Considering that Houdini marked it's territory by smearing a foul yellow bile that was produced in the stomach along border of its claimed land, Sam would have been more than happy to let the damn thing suffocate.

"Samuel, seeing as how you have arrived alone today, it would be most prudent for you handle the mess hall." Sam blinked, his gaze shooting up in shock. Dr. Baker pretended not to notice. "While you are there you might as well grab something for yourself. I do not need Dr. Weir claiming that we treat our people the same way Dr. McKay treats his."

Sam stood there staring, wondering if Atlantis was starting a production of its own reality gag show in order to keep the people entertained. Dr. Baker raised his eyebrows and it was all Sam needed. He spun and went to grab his gear, still suspicious of the situation.

"Oh, and Samuel?" Sam bit back a sigh, knowing that this had to be the sound of the other shoe falling. "When you see your brother please pass on my admiration. That was quite the right hook."

The second sign took Sam longer to notice, but in his defense it was because he was obsessing over how downright friendly Dr. Baker had been. Sam was weighing the merits of an evil twin theory against exposure to illicit drug use when a hurrying marine popped out of the transporter, slamming into Sam's cleaning cart with a tumble. Both the marine and cart spilled to the ground and the contents of the cart took it as an opportunity to make their escape, skittering this way and that. Some of the items flew with enough forced to bounce down the corridor that Sam had just turned out of. With a sigh, Sam looked at the disaster. _At least this time it was an accident,_ he though forlornly.

"You okay?" Sam asked the marine.

The woman waved a dismissive hand, which Sam caught and helped pull the guy up. "Handled worse during basic." She gave the scene a glance. "Shit, dude. I fucked up your day, eh? I'll help you clean it up."

Sam gave the girl a wary glance. "I can handle it."

The marine grinned like Sam said something funny. "I'm sure you can, but I'm already late. At least this way I'll have a good excuse." The friendly pat on the elbow had harmed Sam's balance more than the collision with his cart.

The conformation that things had changed didn't occur until Sam had finished scraping dried gruel out of the mess's walls. He stepped to study the job and make sure he didn't miss anything spots.

"That there is a good job." Sam blinked, but forced himself to not leap away from the marine who had appeared at his side. For the first time he was glad that Dean was making himself scarce because there was no way his brother would have been able to resist pointing out just how rusty Sam was if an old man in army boots could get the jump on him.

"Uh," Sam stuttered, feeling pressured into responding, "Do you see any spots I missed?"

The salt-and-pepper haired marine beside him snorted. "Boy, this here wall is probably cleaner than it was when the Ancients made the thing." The marine clapped a hand on Sam's shoulder, his old blue eyes sparkling his amusement. "Now you need to grab yourself a bite to eat." Sam was cut off before he even had a chance to open his mouth. "I've been here all day and I know you haven't made it here once yet. Even your brother managed to swagger his way in here a few times today, and he's been dodging the doctor just as hard as Carson's been looking for him." The marine gave a crusty chuckle and began to drag Sam towards a table, all the while continuing the conversation. "Now Heinrich has been experimenting with some of the local fares, and he thinks he's come up with something good. The problem is I trust the man about as far as I can throw him, and my own taste buds are shot to hell ever since I took a whiff of mustard gas up the ol' sniffer."

He maneuvered the bewilder Winchester into a chair and Sam was even more surprised to see that a tray with a meal had already been laid out. Any temptation Sam had to turn down the meal vanished at the sight of the coffee cup filled to the brim, it's color already indicating that someone had taken the time to add cream. He grabbed the cup, taking in a long, luxurious sip and was pleased to find that whoever had prepared it had come close to getting it just how he liked it.

The marine behind him chuckled. "I think you can handle it from here, but if you run into any trouble you just give me a holler. Name's Bert."

"Thanks Bert," Sam smiled, holding the coffee close. "I'm Sam."

Bart gave Sam a funny look, as though Sam had said something strange before heading back to the kitchen. Once he was out of sight Sam took a tentative first bite of the strange stew laid before him. He then proceeded to inhale the meal. While it wasn't fine dining by any stretch of the imagination, it certainly beat the diner and fast food that he and Dean were raised on. He mopped up the sauce with some type of tangy bread and was licking his fingers when Bert made a reappearance.

The man's laugh lines deepened as Sam blushed, reaching for a napkin. "So Boy, is it edible?"

Sam gave a small smile. "It was pretty fantastic."

Bert snorted. "Don't be telling Heinrich that. The man already has an ego the size of Texas. The damn fool claims to be related to the family that invented pizza."

Sam frowned quizzically. "It could be true, couldn't it?"

Bert stared a moment before bursting into laughter. "Lord, no. Heinrich is completely Cree."

It was after Bert had finally let Sam escape the mess, shoving a bag of some sort of sliced fruit into Sam's hand before letting the kid get back to work, that Sam began to really watch. Everyone who made eye contact with him offered him some sort of greeting, usually just a nod of the head. A few people yielded their place in the transporter so he and his cleaning cart could go first. Sam was drawn into no less than four conversations about the weather, all of which led back to stories of the hurricane that had almost sunk the city. He was told who to contact about getting beer, passed the email of the city's resident matchmaker and given three names of people who would give him a proper hair cut for token favors.

By the time Sam's shift ended he was thoroughly freaked out. Finding Dean sprawled across Sam's bed like he owned the thing still wearing his boots was, for once, actually more relieving than it was irritating. Sam stood by the door, watching as his brother's chest rose and fell, trying to determine if he should bother to wake Dean up to figure out what the hell was going on, or to just go steal Dean's bed and hope the world righted itself overnight.

"Are you going to stand there all day basking in my glory?" Dean asked, his eyes still closed.

Sam frowned at his brother. "Something's wrong."

Dean lifted an eyelid. "Yeah?"

"Everyone has been being nice."

The other eyelid shot up. "And this is a bad thing because…?"

Sam scowled and stalked over to his trunk, pulling out a fresh shirt. "Because _nobody_ is ever just nice to us."

Dean propped himself up on his elbows. "Are you saying we can't make friends?" He frowned, his tone clearly insulted by the thought that they were socially stunted.

Sam rolled his eyes as he rolled up his dirty shirt. "We make friends," he lied. "What we don't do is suddenly have an adoring fan base clamoring to play nice." Sam slipped the clean shirt on.

Dean smirked. "We commanded a lot of respect when we were in the big house."

"No," Sam turned on his brother, pointing a finger, "We made a lot of enemies."

Dean snorted. "You made enemies. I made friends." His glance turned thoughtful. "Of course, they all died off right away, but it was beautiful while it lasted." He turned a charming grin towards Sam.

"You are not taking this seriously!" Sam scrubbed a hand through his hair as he glared at his brother.

It was Dean's turn to roll his eyes. "Sam, I beat up two marines at the same time. That means everybody here now knows that, officially? We're awesome."

"Yeah," Sam approached the bed, his glare darkening. "Just what the hell was up with that? I thought we were supposed to be keeping a low profile. Play civilian. You know, blend in?"

Dean grimaced and rolled into a sitting position, his legs swinging to the side of the bed. "It was nothing, Sam."

"Oh?" Sam's eyebrows shot to his hairline. "The same nothing that has Dr. McKay paying Ronon in muffins to kick your ass?"

Dean cocked his head. "How many muffins did it cost?"

"Dean!"

"What?" Dean asked innocently. "I want to know how much my ass is worth."

"Dude." Sam shot his brother a flat look, one that screamed _quit changing the subject_. "What the hell is going on?"

Dean matched Sam's seriousness. "It's nothing."

"Dean," Sam sat beside his brother on the bed, frustration bleeding off him. "We're going off world tomorrow. If something is going on I need to know now."

Dean launched himself from the bed as though it were hot. "You think that, what? I'm hiding something that puts you in danger?" Dean's green eyes seemed to shift with his raging emotions. "Jesus, Sammy. You know I'd do anything to keep you safe! What the fuck, man?" Sam watched as Dean balled his fists, occasionally flexing his fingers like he needed to be squeezing the life out of something.

Sam raised his hands in a pacifying gesture, his next words a whisper. "I know, Dean. I know how you've done for me. It's just that," Sam paused, choosing his next words carefully, "you have the tendency to be in the now and sometimes miss how things can…" Sam trailed off, searching for the right phrase.

"Come back to bite us in the ass?" Dean supplied, tossing his head ruefully. "I promise you this is not one of these times."

"Okay," Sam answered dubiously. "But if you are wrong you are doing laundry for a month."

"Your lack of faith hurts me, Sammy, right here." Dean clutched at his chest, grinning at Sam's scoff. "Now, speaking of planning for the future, you and I need go on a little shopping trip."

Sam straightened at the mischief in Dean's eyes. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Dean nodded gravely, his eyes still dancing with intention. "I'm short on some of the basics. You need anything?"

Sam chuckled. "I can think of a few things."

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

John continually switched between staring at his marines and staring at the gate, alternately between pleased that the first didn't shift under his gaze and pissed that the latter hadn't yet sprung to life. His people had been due to start crossing twenty minutes ago and, while there could be a hundred reasons for the tardiness, it was a bad sign for how the rest of training was going to go. It was also uncomfortably away from the protection of the forest, and the sweat from the marines was beginning to lure all sorts of creepy crawlies out into the open. John repressed a shudder. He really hated bugs.

Finally, the gate groaned to life, it's spinning gradually picking up speed as more chevrons locked in. With a gasp the event horizon exploded and the marines prepped their weapons, just in case it wasn't their people who stepped through.

Ronon emerged first, followed closely by Teyla, and John felt something small inside him ease. Several marines that John knew and trusted popped through, eyes sharp and scanning for any sense of threat. Spotting John, they eased and, Cadman being Cadman, offered him a hearty wave.

In his vest, John's radio burst to life. "Atlantis, this is Major Stackhouse. We're in the arms of the welcome wagon."

Elizabeth's fuzzy voice responded. "Glad to hear that. We're sending the rest through now."

An irate Rodney burst through the gate, muttering and cursing as he emerged from the swirling blue glow of the event horizon. John frowned as he watched his favorite scientist stalk to the waiting area, his crooked lips drawn so tight they were no more than an angry slash in his face. John sidled over, burying his concern over an easy smile.

"Rodney," he acknowledge with a nod, turning to watch as more people slid through the gate. Many thought that the grading portion of the exercise was going to start after they set up camp, or after they were sent into the field. John started it with the first footstep on alien soil.

"John," Rodney spat, also watching as people began to pop through the gate in groups of two or three.

John shifted his weight. "You do know I was expecting you all a bit earlier than this," he drawled, lifting an eyebrow meaningfully at McKay.

Rodney snorted disdainfully. "And we would have been here earlier if the screening process to get into the SGC was more complicated inserting shaped blocks into the right slots. Though, technically, this is all your fault."

John blinked, turning to stare incredulously at Rodney. "My fault? How the hell is this my fault?"

Rodney scowled at John. "You tried to kill the wrong brother!" Rodney hissed, poking John in the chest.

John felt the blood leave his face. "Did he threaten you?" The kid could get John kicked off Atlantis. Would he use that information against Rodney? "McKay," John grabbed the scientist's arm. "Did he threaten you?"

Rodney waved a hand. "Threatened to drive me insane! He decided that he required an explanation of how the Stargate works a minute before we are due to go through and then gets everyone looking at the Stargate like it's a death trap! The marines had to waste time calming everyone down and then Rifle the shorter pipes up, 'So it's basically a magic whooshy circle, right?'" Rodney's eye gave a twitch. "He reduced the greatest discovery involving wormhole transportation to 'magic whooshy circle.' Is 'whooshy' even a word?"

"Huh."

Rodney snorted. " 'Huh' also isn't a word. It's what Americans use when their language fails them."

John frowned, turning to back to watch the gate. "Canadians use 'eh' all the time."

"That's different." Rodney's tone was dismissive, as though everybody should know that it was not the same thing at all.

"How so?" John muttered, his eyes taking in a marine who had passed through the gate and promptly passed out.

" 'Huh' is rude."

"Your face is rude."

It was Rodney's turn to look shocked. "Really? That's the best response you've got?" Rodney tossed his hands toward the heavens, exasperation cutting through every gesture. "Great! That's just lovely. I'm trapped with a bunch of idiots being supervised by a five year old."

"It'll be fine, Rodney."

Speak of the devil, it was finally the Winchesters' turn to emerge from the gate. Dean materialized first, stumbling a bit as he tried to stagger out of the way, looking shaky and pale. Sam came after, stumbling through the gate and for a moment John thought he was going to be sick. A few deep breathes and both of them seemed to recover, following the directions of the marines with little trouble. Well, Dean with less trouble than Sam, who seemed to be struggling with the weight of his pack. John and Rodney watched as a few marines circled the pair, offering claps on the back. Dean's laughter cut through the clearing.

Rodney's voice was oddly calm, his hands strangely still. "No, John, it won't."

x-x-x-x-x-x

Emerald light filtered down the trees, bathing the forest in a soft, ethereal glow. A dew-kissed breeze snuck out through the leaves, its fingers rustling them as it slid by like a distracted child. Wild mushrooms shyly poked their heads from little mounds of moss while curious wild flowers twisted around the trees. Somewhere nearby a river mindlessly babbled, its voice fading into the soothing chaos of the forest.

And in the arms of the trees, Teyla took aim. A soft pop indicated the discharging of her weapon. The pellet moved slow enough that Teyla could watch it as it sailed through the air, curving at the last moment and splattering against a tree. The man had begun to react at the sound of her shot, but he hadn't located her. He scrambled for cover. Before he found it Teyla had pulled the trigger three more times, peppering the man in hues of blue and purple.

With a sigh the trainee raised his gun, stuffing a barrel plug into the tip and holding it above his head, indicating to those who couldn't see the color across his uniform that he was out of the game. He laid down on the forest floor and had glared heartily as Teyla stripped his gun for extra ammo, but had offered no more protest than that.

Teyla appreciated the fair play. The last time she had participated in this exercise one of the marines had dumped his spare ammo across the forest floor, both preventing Teyla from scavenging it and giving away her position. John had made the man spend the night searching for loose paintballs for the violation.

John was a puzzle, and despite having known him for a year, he was one that Teyla had yet to solve. John was a man who told jokes, albeit bad ones mostly at Rodney's expense, but jokes nonetheless, under heavy fire when the enemy seemed sure to prevail, but he treated training exercises with the utmost seriousness that he could manage. This exercise in particular was given all of John's attention, despite the simplicity of it.

Teyla and Ronon were given paintball guns, radios, and a device Rodney called a thumbstick, despite the fact it was neither made of wood nor shaped like a thumb. They were given a ten minute head start into the forest. The Lantians were divided into teams of ten and then released into the forest to pursue Teyla and Ronon, ten minutes after the previous. Lantians were killed by a single shot while Teyla and Ronon had to take three to be considered dead. John had reasoned it was because the Wraith were at least three times as hard to kill as a person, so three shots were needed.

The game ended when either all of the teams were defeated or when the thumbsticks were acquired by the Lantians. So far, Teyla and Ronon had always won. When Teyla had pointed this out to John, with her concern of the effectiveness of the exercise, John had smirked.

"On Earth, the biggest, baddest, and most deadly of all the animals out there is a marine with a gun, and they all know it. Here? It's you with sticks. And they need to know it." She had not argued with him, had not pointed out that her sticks had never destroyed a Wraith Ship, because in his eyes she could see the reflection of the first night he had encountered the Wraith. She could remember the marines being slaughtered like sheep as they scrambled in terror in from an enemy they did not understand. As a leader she could appreciate John's need to ensure that such events were never repeated.

So she cut through the forest as though she truly were being pursued by enemies, ghosting through the trees with no more than a whisper to indicate her passing. She shot John's people almost lazily, noting who had tried to work in teams, who had split up, and who had panicked.

Then someone finally fired first.

He caught her in the shoulder and her surprise washed away the sharp sting. Teyla dove for cover, rolling and twisting herself so she was deep under a log and safe from the enemy fire that splattered gently like raindrops against the wood. She took in a deep breath, cursing the safety mask John forced everyone wear as the echo of her own breath distorted the sounds of the forest around her, making it hard to discern his location. So Teyla waited.

It didn't take long before the soft rustle of stirring leaves whispered from her left. The sound was careful, hesitant, and revealed that whoever had shot Teyla was experienced with stealth but not with forests. The sharp snap of twig was like an explosion that heralded silence, the man obviously checking to see how much damage the sound had done.

It was enough.

Teyla rolled, firing as the world twisted upside down and back again. She felt the bite of a paintball across her stomach, but the enemy fire ceased.

"Damn! I'm out! I'm out!" called the shooter.

Teyla continued to roll, transferring the dynamic motion into a twist and rising to her feet in a roll that was deceptively graceful. A few small steps took her to the cover of a tree, and she pushed her bank against the trunk like a long time lover. A small lean was all that was required to see her opponent. Teyla looked first for the telltale paint splatters that revealed him as out, ensuring that she wasn't about to walk into a crude trap. Three bursts of purple across his chest set her at ease as he plopped cross-legged onto the ground and began fiddling with his gear.

As she slid like a shadow out of her cover she was surprised at which familiar face emerged from under the safety equipment.

"Samuel Winchester?"

The boy looked up, wrinkling his nose. "God no. It's Sam." His grin was light and charming and his eyes recognized her from his time spent with John in the infirmary. "I suppose you are going to want my ammo before you go?" he asked ruefully.

Teyla let herself give him a small smile. "You are quite perceptive." Sam's grin grew wry. He eased the canister off of his gun, elastics holding the lid shut as he turned the container upside-down and held it out for Teyla.

She had only seconds between her instincts to flaring in warning and the third impact across her back. She would had several hours to berate herself for missing out on one vital clue.

Where there was Sam, there was Dean.

They must have been waiting for her, or perhaps Ronon. It was the only explanation for how someone so prone to making noise could have been quiet. Dean's every move as he untangled himself from the tree branches where he had been hiding were like thunder.

If thunder swore.

"Hey," he smirked at Teyla as he finally hit the ground with the sound of a stampede. "I believe you owe me a present." He reached his hand out like an eager child. Sam rolled his eyes at his brother's antics but his expectation still hung in the air. The trap they had established had been effective and unexpected from the pair. In a show of defeat Teyla reached to the cord around her neck.

Dean convulsed in a shimmer of red, folding to the ground like a paper doll. Ronon stepped out of the shadows of the forest, holding his own gun pointed and primed. He glared meaningfully at Sam before thrusting the gun into the holster and fading back into the forest like a phantom.

Teyla glanced down at the fallen Winchester before looking to the other one with questions in her eyes. Sam looked down at his brother, a picture of exasperation. His half-hearted shrug was half an explanation. The rest was a casual, "my brother's an idiot."

Teyla decided that this? Was John's problem.

X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X_

Confusion Clear Up

Dean and Sam stint in jail: Supernatural Episode Folsom Prison Blues Season 3.

AN- Sorry for the wait and sorry that this was still a bit of exposition. Shit should get real in the next chapter. I also offer no promises on when it will be released. For those of you who don't stalk me on LJ, I've been diagnosed as being bipolar level II. What this means for you is that I have very little means to cope with stress factors in my life while my medications get sorted out, which can take months. So I can only seem to write in spurts. The estimated time of completion on this story has increased, but only that. I will get this story done. I still know where I want it to go and how I'm going to get there. It's just actually being in a state where I can type that all out is rarer that I would like.

Thank you for your patience.

Also- since I believe education is the key to a better world, if anyone has any questions about bipolar disorder, fell free to ask.


	5. Burn This Building Down

Disclaimer: Not Mine

**Faustian Hopscotch**

Chapter 5

Burn This Building Down

Chuck was a technician. While that was a career choice that required a certain set of skills that only came with time and higher education, were anyone who knew the man asked to describe his job they'd tell start and stop with him being the guy who reset your technological doodad to make it work again. Even the people at the SGC, a place where everyone knew that a geek was worth his weight in weapons grade naquadah, described him as the reset guy. Never mind that he maintained the hardware and software of one of the most secret and secure places in the US. Never mind that he developed patches and bypasses and designed software upgrades for technology that had never been seen before on Earth. Never mind he worked with equipment most people believed existed only in the realm of science fiction. Nope, he was the guy who reset things.

Guns didn't have a reset function. They also didn't require software patches. They couldn't be rewired to increase efficiency and they didn't get viruses uploaded into their databases. So why Chuck was holding one was beyond him.

Certainly, he understood the theory, but he better understood that the theoretical and the practical were fields apart. Outlining a theory where he listened to the marine barking out orders and walked away a marksman was like trying to calculate acceleration while ignoring friction. Sure, there was some pretty math involved but it just didn't translate off the page.

This was why Chuck was content to glare at the piece of paper a few hundred yards off instead of trying to inflict damage upon it; trying being the operative word. He was more of a Yoda fan anyway. He preferred the 'do not' to 'try'.

So far, he was managing his glaring quite well. He'd been sorted into the group with the least experience with firearms, which left him as one of a few dozen wedged into the stalls of the makeshift firing range. Apparently not firing at all let Chuck fly beneath the frustrated instructor's radar. The incoherent screams of rage that punctuated the air only validated that not firing was definitely better than trying and doing it wrong.

"Hey." Chuck glanced back, surprised to find Sam Winchester watching him intently. Until that moment, Chuck had been certain that he didn't register anywhere on Sam's radar. Not that Sam had anything against the technician, or geeks in general. It was just that as far as Chuck could tell, no one who wasn't Dean or Ronon or directly speaking to Sam really made an impression. Both of the Winchesters were like that. They were aloof enough that everybody on the base 'knew' a bit about them, because nobody knew them at all.

There were all sorts of theories floating about as to why they were like that and why they were on Atlantis, and a revised batch had come out after Dean made sport of a couple of marines. The pair had gone from possible International Oversight Advisory agents, seeking to tidy up Atlantis, to possible Asgard bio-experiments who were going to be an ace in the hole next time the Wraith decided to attack. Or they were cloned variations of O'Neill's dead son. Or a Jaffa prince and bodyguard sent to absorb Earth culture without risking exposure. Or aliens who had been hiding on Earth. Or advanced AIs. Or or or. The theories went on and on, each becoming a little more inane than the last. If they really had been robots the Colonel wouldn't have been able to gut one of them, and enough of Sam's insides had been left in the hallway to know that they weren't made of wire. Still, no matter what the truth, it was really peculiar that Sam was speaking to him.

"Are you jammed? You haven't fired a shot."

Chuck offered a shrug and more than willingly handed his weapon into Sam's proffered hand. He watched, baffled but curious, as Sam poked, prodded, shook and smacked the gun. When Sam finished mauling the P90 he looked up with a small but knowing grin. For it's size it was amazing how much concern and sympathy he had packed into the expression. "It's not jammed."

Chuck took the safest route and gave Sam another shrug.

"Are you right handed or left?"

"Right?" Chuck ventured, not sure where this was going.

Sam nodded, more to himself than to Chuck, and offered the P90 back. Chuck grasped it gingerly, not overly thrilled to have had it handed back to him. His displeasure flowed into alarm when Sam didn't fully let go. Instead he guided the weapon to Chuck's shoulder while simultaneously circling, tacking Chuck to Sam with the gun.

"Excuse me, but what are you doing?"

"Teaching you to shoot," came the absent reply as the pressure against Chuck's shoulder was adjusted.

"Why?" Chuck asked, nonplussed.

Sam continued to manipulate the gun against Chuck's shoulder. "You came and got me when Dean was being, well, Dean." Sam's tone was a mix of fondness and derision, which blew all the Dean's just a body guard theories, but definitely leant credibility to them being possible lovers. "This is the least I can do to help." Sam unfurled himself from Chuck, tutting as he scrutinized his work.

"Your footwork is all off," Sam murmured. "You need to square your feet off, and move your dominant foot a few inches behind the other." Sam grabbed Chuck's legs, hauling them into position. "This is called the athletic stance. You brace yourself better, reducing the impact of recoil, and you have a greater range of movement for targeting. It works way better than the Hollywood posturing that you were trying."

Chuck endured Sam's ministrations with a polite bewilderment, listening as best he could to Sam's running commentary as the other positioned him like some kind of GI-Joe. Chuck held the pose as best he could, his body grumbling at the unfamiliarity of the stance as Sam finally finished his tweaking. "Do you know how to aim?"

Instead of bleeding exasperation at yet another of Chuck's blank shrugs, Sam moved closer to the barrel, pointing out the sights on either side. "The P90 is fully ambidextrous," Sam explained, " and is the first of its kind to be so. Now, you line up your sights," Sam wiggled the gun again, "and keep both eyes open. There is no point in aiming your gun if you're only going to do half the job." Sam's explanation sounded rote, as though it was something he'd been told a hundred times. "When you're ready to fire twist this here. It's your safety. You won't be able to shoot when it's here, but give it a twist," Chuck complied, "and now you're on semi-auto. If you twist it again you're on full auto, which is a great way to waste ammo. Ready? Just give the trigger a gently squeeze."

Chuck did and the world exploded. The P90 heaved a scream as it slammed back, pounding into Chuck's shoulder. It's cry echoed in his fingertips, leaving them buzzing as the gun faded to silence. His own shout of surprise was swallowed by nerves and adrenaline as they tangled, dancing across his skin like fire. He lowered the weapon and let out a shaky breath.

"Good job," Sam said in the same tone as elementary school teachers everywhere. "Now this time relax your grip and let out a breath before you fire."

x-x-x-x-x-x-

Information flowed like a river, rising and rushing with rainfall, swirling into unexpected nicks in the bank, eddying until it was ready to surge forward. It pushed and carved, gently smoothing away the rough edges until everything fit with the precision of puzzle pieces. It brought nutrients to those who lived near its edge, sustaining life and encouraging growth, letting the world flourish into richness. It was information that made everything possible, that made everything work together.

That John had none was pissing him off. Seriously, he was the goddamn commander of the entire fucking military contingent on Atlantis and no one was telling him a goddamn thing. He had tried to come to grips with the fact that his military had been picking on civilians, and not the pulling pigtails grade school crap but of the full-blown high school wedgies and swirlies variety, but he had given up on rationalizing when he realized that he was dealing with the tip of one hell of an iceberg. There was simply no way that Elizabeth didn't know that Dean could take care of himself and anyone that crossed his path, yet she hadn't told John. She hadn't told him anything about the Winchesters and that was more than a simple fucking oversight. That was tactical shit that John needed to know and he needed to know why everyone was trying so hard to keep it a secret. Trying and failing fucking miserably. John wasn't an idiot and everyone was dropping baskets of breadcrumbs. Take, for instance, the fact that Dean had managed to ambush Teyla in a forest.

Teyla. In a forest.

That was like sneaking up behind the goddamn Batman in an alleyway. It just wasn't fucking _done. _

It hadn't been a clean victory, with Ronon stunning Dean (and what the hell was up with that?) but it was closer than any of the marines fresh of the Daedalus had ever gotten. John had personally re-sorted Dean into more advanced fire arms class, grimly curious as to how Dean would cope with the stricter standards required for a pass. Dean had risen to the challenge, passing with a comfortable buffer despite the fact that the records of Atlantis's firing range indicated Dean couldn't hit the target if he threw the bullets. Apparently his ability was directly related to the number of marines taking bets.

And now Sam, who had barely scraped by in his own fire arms training, had Chuck Campbell, if not raking in the bull's-eyes, then at least firing well enough to stay alive in an actual combat scenario. And just to ice the proverbial cake, despite Sam's struggles with the P90, both he and Dean had managed a perfect head shot and a wince-worthy one to the groin that, without the fucking mountain of evidence John had of there being something up, would have been considered a fluke.

Something was going on and John was going to get to the bottom if he had to dig there himself.

Frustrated and disturbed, John slipped away from where he had stood to watch the firing range. The camp was mix of activity as various groups trained and tested and, despite the seriousness of the training, the air seemed quite jovial. John marched on, feeling like a tornado in a Disney movie as he tromped a direct path, blowing past the unwary. He followed the sharp clack of sticks that nicked the air to a crowd of hooting marines. The crowd parted for John, especially after he threw a few elbows. He watched at the front, a frown engraved on his face.

"Teyla!" He snapped. The Athosian turned, acknowledging John's impatience with an eyebrow. The marine, obviously new, decided to press his advantage, moving in for the kill while Teyla was distracted. Two swings and he was eating dirt. John sheared back through the crowd, which this time parted for him like water before a shark. He didn't bother to check back to see if Teyla was following him. He knew she would be.

His second stop took him to Ronon, who was demonstrating the finer points of hand-to-hand for some of the keener civilians. At the wave of John's chin he passed off the activity to Corporal Croswell, following John as he picked his way towards the edge of camp. Finding a spot that was shielded from intruders and the weird happy vibes, John indulged by leaning up against the trunk of one of the trees acting as a barrier between him and the insanity of his troops. He crossed his arms lightly, his thumbs hanging out to twiddle as he kicked a heel and dug it deep into the wood. "What do you guys know about the Winchesters?"

"Very little," Teyla pursed her lips in thought. "They are quite clever and both are more capable then they would have you believe." Her words were soft and deliberate, a sign that she had not settled her own opinion on the matter.

John nodded, perturbed. Teyla had a gift, and it wasn't her whole ability to sense Wraith. She seemed to know people the way Rodney knew science. It was somewhere deep in her bones that let her see things others didn't. It had saved their Asses on many occasions. The fact that she had no more information than John was unnerving, to say the least.

He glanced at Ronon, knowing he had been spending time with the two.

"Sam likes steckleberry muffins."

"Really?" John drawled, stuffing as much sarcasm into the word as he could manage, which happened to be a lot considering its length. Besides being utterly unhelpful, Ronon's contribution was painfully obvious. Those muffins were disturbingly delicious. He was fairly certain Rodney had someone working on cloning steckleberries because the suppliers were stingy. "Anything else?" Perhaps something relevant.

"No." The word had the force of a mudslide.

John could feel the muscles in his shoulders tighten into cords, ligament by ligament. "Right." He reminded himself that he could trust Ronon, that Ronon would follow him through hell. He huffed out a breath. "Fine." It was fine. "I want eyes and ear on them at all times. Teyla, you cover Sam-"

"I'm with Sam."

Something shattered in the ensuing silence, but John was the only one who could hear it. "Excuse me?" John pulled out his best Colonel voice, trying to pin Ronon with a look.

He could have been pissing in the wind for all the affect it had. "I'm with Sam," Ronon said as though it were written in stone.

"Alright." John gave Ronon a smile full of teeth. "You're with Sam. Now that we've settled that, why don't you go back to playing with the marines?" John's tone was saccharine and mocking and they both knew it.

Ronon held John's gaze, and when he looked away it wasn't because he couldn't match John. He turned like a lion that was bored with its prey and strode off with a casual deliberation.

"Teyla." She was also watching Ronon's departure with a thoughtful little frown that was all soft edges. "Cover Dean. And get me Cadman, will you?"

John was going to figure out what the hell was going on and not even Ronon was going to stand in his fucking way.

x-x-x-x-x-

People tended to talk about Dean Winchester. And why not? He had a face that even angels wanted to wear, with eyes so green that envy was applying to have a color change. His body was a temple that had been hand sculpted by only the most talented artisans and was maintained daily by adulating worshippers. He had perfected and patented the term Big Brother©. He was a topnotch mechanic that could make even the most enervated of wrecks purr with new life and he was an even better driver. He was a bit of a rascal, though those less enamored with his charm tended to toss around terms like troublemaker or, from those who actively disliked him, a deviant. He was a man-slut who couldn't hold a steady relationship for more than a few hours, an uneducated hick who was on a fast track to nowhere.

Most people Dean met didn't peg him as being the quickest on the uptake. Even Sam, who knew Dean as well as anyone could, occasionally suspected his brother wasn't playing with a full deck. That was fine. Dean was keeping the aces up his sleeve.

It was easy to play the part of the idiot. People tended to treat him like one. They flashed watery smiles that didn't reach their eyes, used little words that they pronounced slowly, and forgot he was in the room when they turned to discuss more serious matters in hefty voices and extensive vocabulary. All Dean had to do was be there and keep a big, dumb smile on his face.

At least, that was how it was supposed to work.

"Sheppard wants to know what's going on." Ronon stood shoulder to shoulder with Dean, watching as an afternoon storm rained out the activities. Some of the keeners were still working on practice, tossing each other in the mud with the enthusiasm of kids at recess. Mostly everyone had retreated to their tents. A few seeking solitude had done as Dean and Ronon, pulling up a tree to hide under as they watched rain.

"That's nice," Dean grumbled. The fact that he'd been switched to the marine's training schedule had been a tip off, with the passing grades no longer being something Dean could trip over. It was why as much of his energies right now were devoted to keeping an eye on Sam as he stood across the clearing. He'd seemed to have made friends with a geek and the pair could be seen talking enthusiastically under a clump of trees, each taking turns to watch the other with wide-eyed wonder as they hid from the rain. Dean had a suspicion that despite how interested they looked, whatever they were talking about was lethally boring. Geeks were like that.

"I want to know what's going on." There was something hard in Ronon's tone that caused Dean to glance at the big alien out of the corner of his eye.

Dean jutted his chin defensively. "And I want to know why the hell you keep stunning me. Looks like we're both out of luck, Rapunzel."

"Promised McKay I'd threaten you. I'm making it look good." Ronon gave Dean a sideways look. "What did you do to piss him off?"

"Nothing. Christ." Dean kicked at the ground. The responding squelch was unsatisfactory. "And why the hell did you promise him that?"

Ronon gave a half-hearted shrug. "Was going to do it anyway. Plus, he gave me stuff."

"This is about those marines, isn't it?" Dean sighed. Every inch of Ronon's body was waiting for a reasonable explanation. "Look, it got out of hand." Rained continued to shoot down, splashing high enough that walking through it was bound to get your knees wet. The storm looked like it was going to last a few more hours, at least. "He threatened Sam, okay?"

Ronon's silence lightened a few shades. "Think he meant it?" Dean shrugged. When had that ever mattered?

Somewhere over the pitter of water hitting the leaves, several birds were calling. The cacophonic cries jangled through the rhythm of the rain, like a bell shattering the morning. The noise seemed to hang in the air, like the question Ronon wasn't going to ask. Why are you both here?

Dean gathered his courage, pulling it close the way a child piled on blankets. He took a deep breath, stepping off the ledge into uncharted territory, and decided to trust someone because he wanted to, not because he had to. "You know about Sam." His brother was laughing across the clearing, a smile teasing across his new geek friend's face. "You're not the only one. This group found out. Came after him." Dean rubbed at the back of his neck, the skin slick with moisture. "I hid him, best I could, but the simple fact is that I couldn't protect him there. They were good and it was only going to take one slip up and I would have lost him." Dean swallowed, trying to push back the memory of Sam with Meg's black eyes, and the weight of a corpse in a ghost town.

"Johnny-General O'Neill," Dean corrected, "he sent us here to keep Sam safe. We're trying to lie low. The longer it takes them to realize we are, the longer Sam'll have a chance." Sam gave his new friend a pat on the back and for a moment the guy looked like the kid had bad touched him. "I'm just not good at this." Not good at hiding, at waiting, at not being the one leading the charge. Stillness was not the Winchester way.

Ronon gave a soft grunt. "Sheppard's not gonna stop til he knows."

"You gonna tell him?" Ronon's fingers twitched and Dean was pretty sure the alien was fighting the urge to stun him. He was hoping it was the urge to stun him. "Right." Dean drawled, shivering as droplets slid from the leaves and with bomber precision slipped down his neck.

"He's having you watched."

"Well, I am incredibly sexy." As was his stalker. He'd tagged Teyla as being a tail when she had started being the fifth player on every four-man team Dean was sorted into. See? The whole being dumb thing still worked a little in his favor.

"I'm watching Sam," Ronon proclaimed.

Dean gave a half-smile. "Yeah?" Ronon didn't bother to nod. They continued to watch Sam together in silence.

Fuck, the situation was ridiculous. There was just too much going on. Dean wanted off of this rock, out of this forest, and back in the halls of Atlantis. Hell, he might have even wanted back on Earth. Sure, the NID had been nipping at their heels, but Sam had already basically died and come back on their first week on Atlantis. Now they were out here on some stupid ball of dirt with too many trees and too many eyes peeking out from between them. At the city he and Sam could avoid everyone. Atlantis would whisper when people were coming, if Dean asked, and they could raid the cafeteria at nights and go hole up in some unexplored hallway. The city was the size of freaking New York. If he and Sam needed to stay disappeared they could.

There he could at least take Sam and hide out if shit went wrong. Here… Dean hated trees. They hid things. Big, hungry things. And they made you itchy.

And tomorrow he was going hiking.

Fun.

x-x-x-x-x-x

Marching through forests sucked.

For a lucky man it was mind numbingly redundant, passing along the same stretch of godforsaken land with the same people over and over again. Insects flew up or dropped down or just instantly manifested themselves into your reality with the sole intent of snacking on your sensitive bits. Animals watched you with all kinds of intent that Disney had failed to mention. Plants grabbed at you with the desperation of a beggar, vines curled around you feet like a lover, treacherously never letting go, and thorns would pierce even the thickest of protective gear. Everything was either diseased, poisonous, or infested.

And that was for the lucky man.

An unlucky one faced the additional challenges of local hospitality, which was often expressed through carefully crafted welcome mats of the sharp spike variety. It was amazing how little it took to incapacitate a man. Side-closing Panji traps were so simply even a child could make one. Put a few nails in a board, set it over a hole, and man would find himself in a whole world of hurt. Not as much as if he came across a spike board, mind you. One miss step and you'd have a face full of stakes. Of course, there was the razor wire strung about that glistened like a spider's web in the morning dew and tripwires that triggered almost anything. If you hit a trip wire you'd better pray, because your sorry ass was in God's hands.

Or course, being all hospitable-like meant that on occasion the natives would give their personal attention to the soldiers. It was no wonder they'd lost Vietnam. It was as though the entire forest had declared war, bullets coming from every angle as shadows slid into darker shadows, blood and foliage filling the air like confetti.

Lance Corporal Leroy Young drank in every second of it with the grace of a connoisseur. He recognized those moments as being perfect for demonstrating to the world why you did not fuck with Leroy Young and used every opportunity to it's fullest. He loved marching.

But damn, did he hate civilians.

He'd been warned, of course, about the silly civilian games that were played during marches, mostly because civilians had the attention span of three years olds and the physical endurance of Leroy's gran, which was saying something cause she'd been dead for a while now. He'd asked about and been told the best way to wiggle out of Prime-Not Prime, been given a few games to suggest that weren't entirely annoying and would keep the civilians focused on not bothering you.

However, no one had reckoned to give him advice on how to handle this situation in particulars.

Dr. Willy Greenburg was all pale with rage that trickled into his voice with the subtly of a whistle, making the same shrill sound. "Our current reports show that one of the many deficits of the cultures in Pegasus is their inability to provide modern medicine to their people! Providing them with vegetation that can be used as antiseptics would both demonstrate our peaceful nature while fostering trust between us and the people indigenous to this galaxy!" The man was so young that the ink on his degree couldn't have been wet. He wasn't particularly scrawny, but he gave off the feel of someone who was, struggling with his pack, even though the civilians weren't carrying half the gear the soldiers were. His brown hair was that movie start short, which meant just long enough that you could muss it to look like an idiot. The man was pale and bug-eyed, and his voice tended to wheedle. Leroy was also pretty sure he was the idiot who mentioned the bug incident in the gate room.

Dean Winchester, on the other hand, was the idiot who'd sworn loud enough that the whole contingent could have pointed him out. "Dude, they have plants here." An arm waved to indicate the forest. Dean seemed to be having no problem with his pack, except keeping it packed. From his spot in the rear Leroy could see how tightly crap had been crammed in there, with the sides bulging in odd spots. "You really think handing them a few more is going to be appreciated?" Dean continued to instigate, popping a few M&Ms into his mouth from a huge bag he had pulled seemingly out of nowhere. Not only had he refused to share, but he seemed to take delight in cracking the shells of the candy so loud that Leroy was pretty damn sure Atlantis could hear him.

"I'm not giving them _plants_," Dr. Greenburg shrieked. "I'm providing them with medical intervention."

"Made of plants. And isn't that like environmental assassination?"

"_What?!" _Leroy gritted his teeth, flicking a glance to the Colonel, who seemed strangely unaffected by the drama. He'd heard the Colonel was a tough bastard, but this was impressive. Leroy wished he'd quit being so damned impressive and get the civilians under goddamn control.

"You introduce a plant in the new environment and them bam, a year later all you got is this plant because it's killed everything else off. It's like you're trying to kill off the first aliens you meet." Dean cracked a few more M&Ms.

"You-" The biologist sputtered, his brain either at a complete loss or too full of insults to pick which one should come out of his mouth first.

Leroy wasn't sure which one of them he wanted to shoot more. Dean had been instigating like nobody's business, and only a complete idiot could have missed that fact. That being said, Dr Greenburg had walked into trap after trap. The march was supposed to take a total of five hours, led by the Colonel to evaluate physical endurance and the ability to endure alien environments or some such other hootenanny. They were nearly at two and the entire time Dr. Greenburg had been on the defensive, while Dean smugly munched on his goddamn M&Ms. He'd already berated the man for bringing chocolate (do you want to introduce diabetes into a pre-industrialized society?) gold (cause we're not still killing each other for it), and a museum of natural history (great, I'm sure knowing what violent bastards we are is a great way to start an alliance). Leroy's trigger finger was getting mighty twitchy.

"What would you offer, Dean Winchester?" Teyla asked. She gave Leroy the willies. She radiated the same sense of knowing that Leroy's ma had, as though she knew you hadn't washed behind your ears like you'd gone and said you'd had.

Dean offered the lady a smile that fit better in a bar than it did in the forest they were inching through. "You mean other than my fine self?" The doctor sputtered incoherently. "I'd bring a Chevy Impala."

Teyla's face smoothed into a frown, but Leroy felt his sprits lift a bit. "What year?"

Dean gave the Corporal a look so flat you could have served tea off of it. "Dude, 1967 or bust."

Leroy grunted, impressed despite himself. That right there was a fine machine.

"You'd bring a _car_? You'd bring a car to represent the value of Earth culture to aliens? A stupid car?" Dr. Frederick's voice was hollow with horror.

Dean crunched on a few more M&Ms. "No, I'd bring a Chevy Impala," he spoke in a tone of exaggerated patience. "It's a deft piece of engineering that will drive until the apocalypse if you maintain her right, and her stereo system is no slouch. She perfectly embodies our technological capabilities and has the added bonus of being able to play the most important music of our time. And," Dean added with care, "she won't cause an ecological crisis."

Dr. Greenburg seemed to be looking for a snotty reply, but Teyla flowed over him. "I have enjoyed my experiences with Earth vehicles. What would you bring, Corporal Young?"

Leroy snorted. He gave his P90 a tender rub. He was carrying all he'd ever need to meet an alien.

"I'd bring a Ferris wheel," the Colonel murmured almost absently. It was the first thing he'd added to the conversation, besides the tension that rolled off him like radiation.

Teyla gave a smile that was both knowing and nostalgic and Leroy took it as a cue to keep his mouth shut. "I thought your gift of choice was a football?"

The Colonel laughed lightly. "I already gave one of those to Rodney's kids."

"Dr. McKay has children?" Dr. Greenburg was the one to ask, but the air was thick with every one listening for the answer.

The Colonel gave an amused chuckle as he pushed past a low hanging branch. "He was adopted by the kids of M7G-677". The air slackened in relief. Some thoughts were just too horrifying. "He also did give them chocolate."

Leroy almost let out a groan. "You see?!" Whaled Dr. Greenburg. "McKay gave them chocolate! I told you it was a good idea."

The Colonel shrugged. "Maybe. To be fair, they were a planet full of kids."

Dr. Frederick seemed bound and determined to wine the "Most Fucking Annoying Civilian" Award and he was doing a shockingly good job considering his competition was still smacking on those goddamn M&Ms that he still wouldn't goddamn share. "How can a planet _possibly _be populated only by children?" His tone was a deadly mix of skepticism, patronization, and curiosity.

The Colonel froze mid-step, like a cat that had just noticed he had company. Leroy was sorta hoping he was gonna turn around and deck the scientist. Instead, the Colonel gave a smile aimed at the jugular. "Poor urban planning." His tone was too friendly to be trusted. "In fact," the Colonel said brightly, "when we get back to Atlantis you can go through the SGA-1 reports and discover the problem for yourself. Maybe you'll come up with a few helpful suggestions."

"But I'm a biologist!" Dr. Greenburg plowed on like a lemming looking for a cliff and possibly a helping hand off of it.

"And I'm sure your understanding of crops will lend you a unique insight into the problem." The Colonel's manically friendly toned plummeted into business. "We're running behind schedule."

They weren't, actually, but they stepped up the pace anyway. Leroy didn't mind. It seemed to keep the Colonel happy, or at least didn't serve to further piss the man off. The Colonel was prickly, but it was to be expected. A man having to put up with this many civilians was gonna have to vent somehow, and Leroy would rather have a prickly commander than a twitchy one.

But moving that fast had consequences. Sure, they had been going too fast for them to keep chattering like squirrels, and Dean had finally put the M&Ms away, but civilians were soft. It didn't take long before Dr. Greenburg was panting like a dog and stumbling like a drunk. Leroy steadied the guy a few times and Teyla called upon the Colonel to whoa up.

"We're almost there."

He wasn't kidding. Several minutes later the group emerged from the forest and marched onto the top of a steep hill. Blue sky wrapped its way around the horizon, disappearing only when the panoramic view took you back to the forest. The hill was sharp and jagged and nearly deserved to be called a cliff. The ground seemed stable enough, but there was signs of a mudslide only a day or two old that had carried away some of the trees that had tried to find purchase on the hill. Below the hill was yet more forest that seemed to stare petulantly at the hill.

Dr. Greensburg wasn't paying any attention to that. The man had dropped to the ground the moment the team had stopped walking. He was fumbling with the side pocket that had his canteen while lying on the ground. Leroy had expected Winchester to follow suit. Instead Leroy watched as the Dean, no more winded than Leroy, walked to edge of the hill and took on the view, popping a few more M&Ms into his mouth. "Neat."

Leroy strode up, giving another glance around. The view wasn't really any different from where he had been standing, except for a glint a long ways off, which was probably a lake or something. So far it remained devoid of things that needed to be killed, and thus lacked anything truly interesting.

A mechanical whine filled the air, and for a moment Leroy had the vague worry that he had somehow jinxed everything. That worry eased when a Puddle Jumper skimmed it's way into view, poking over the forest and plunging into the blue skies.

Leroy nearly jumped out of his skin when the Colonel laughed. "Dr. McKay is driving that one. You can tell by how it won't go straight. I swear that man thinks in circles."

They stood in silence, watching, except for Dr. Greenburg, who seemed content to lie. Sure enough, it was true. The Puddle Jumper seemed to swing back and forth, like a fish with a tendency to overcompensate. It moved through the sky with ease, even though the thing was shaped like a grey tin can. It didn't even have wings, just these tiny thrusters that stuck out maybe a foot from the body. It was a miracle that the thing flew.

Then something small and greedy rose up from the forest ahead and the Puddle Jumper was falling, just like a tin can. That is, if tin cans could smoke.

"Sam!" Dean hissed, his eyes wide with horror as the ship disappeared into the forest.

"Sheppard to Puddle Jumper 3, Sheppard to Puddle Jumper 3, do you copy? Do you copy? Dammit McKay, I said do you fucking copy?" The Colonel snarled at the silence. "This is Sheppard to Boot Camp, respond."

"This is Boot Camp," came the cracked reply over the radio.

"Puddle Jumper 3 is down. I repeat, Puddle Jumper 3 is down. Enemy fire." The Colonel was scouting out ways down the hill as he rifled off commands. Leroy felt the tingle of approaching action. While rescue missions weren't seek and destroy, they were a damn sight better than training. "I want the camp evacuated through the Stargate. People go through first, then anything we don't need anyone getting their hands on. If you can't get it through the gate, blow it. Contact Lorne and have him arrange a team. I want flybys, I want them cloaked, and I want them scanning with the Life Sign Detectors. Land if they can. If not, hold tight for my signal."

"Yes, Sir!"

"I've got civvies and a rookie I'm sending your way. I'll contact you as soon as Teyla and I have located the Jumper." The Colonel signed off of the radio. "Corporal Young, you take Winchester and Greenburg back to camp and you get them there fast."

Leroy wanted to argue. He wanted to curse and swear and demand to be taken to recover the Puddle Jumper, but he was a soldier who followed orders. "Yes, Sir."

"Hell, no!" Dean snarled. "My brother was on that thing and I'll be damned if I abandon him."

The Colonel gave the kid a cold look. "You don't know your brother was on that ship. There are a dozen flights scheduled for today. More importantly, you're a civilian with no gate experience. You are going back with Corporal Young even if I have to let him shoot you."

Dean had enough rage rattling around inside him that he was shaking with it. "You asshole! You can't just order me-"

"And why wouldn't I be able to?" The Colonel kept his voice soft and daring. There was something about the Colonel's tone that suggested if that question wasn't answered very carefully, someone really was getting a bullet as a souvenir.

Dean blinked. "What?"

"Why wouldn't I be able to just order you?" The challenge stood above the noise of the forest and Leroy began to suspect that the Colonel and Dean we're still at odds over the whole bug incident. Dean, for his part, merely sucked in a breath and eased it out slowly. His eyes glared murder, but when it became apparent that was all that he was gonna do the Colonel shuffled him to the back of his mind. "Teyla, let's go."

Leroy led his pair of civilians back through the woods. It wasn't hard to see which way they had come from. Broken branches and boot prints in the mud highlighted the path, which was good because time was definitely a factor. Unfortunately, time didn't seem to know that and they weren't moving faster than how'd they come.

"Please! Stop. I need a break." Why they were moving slow wasn't a mystery. Leroy had already made Dr. Greenburg drop his pack, ignoring the man snivel about some book he was a damn fool to bring out here in the first place. Still, it seemed as though every few minutes the scientist was out of breath and complaining.

Still Leroy stopped. "You get five." He glanced around the forest, watching for enemy movement, while Dr. Greenburg slurped on his canteen. God, if the enemy had made it this far out they were dead. That was why Dr. Greenburg only got a three-minute break.

Leroy hauled him to his feet, grabbing the man by the wrist with the intent to drag him if he had too. He'd taken a whole three steps before he realized that something was seriously wrong, a few moments of staring for the problem to sink in.

"Where the hell is Dean?"

Leroy hated civilians.

X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X_

X_X_X_X_X_X

International Oversight Advisory- hence for to be called the IOA is an organization that reviews SGC activities, controls funding, and has is supposed to ensure that people don't abuse power and such.

Buttstick- the back part of a gun that is braced against the shoulder when you fire.

Traps: a spike board is a bit like a fatal rake. Two boards are set on either end of a stick and one is riddled with spikes. They are set over a hole and when you step on the trigger board, the spiked board swings up and smacks you in the face or the chest. Sometimes trip wires would be attached to grenades, other times they'd trigger things like the swinging logs in cartoons and Star Wars. A tiger trap was a particularly nasty one that, when activated, dropped a spiked board on its intended victim.

M7g-667- Episode Childhood's End. There was a planet were people committed suicide at age 25 to prevent the Wraith from finding them.

Meg- Possessed Sam in Episode Born Under a Bad Sign, Season three.

Ghost Town Corpse- Season 2 All Hell Breaks Loose. Sam dies.


	6. Drop of a Hat

Drop of a Hat

For someone who had lived inside Rodney's head, Laura Cadman knew surprisingly little about the man. She's seen the inside of his bed room, how he acted on a date and even what he looked like naked, but she hadn't gain a personal insight into who Rodney was.

Who he was seemed to be a vindictive bastard.

Dean's brother Sam was standing in the middle of the puddle jumper looking for all the world like a drowned kitten as Rodney circled around him like a shark, poking and drawing cuts as he explained how various scenarios of jumper malfunction could cause different types of bodily harm.

"The most deleterious effect of having your heart explode is that you can continue to enjoy the experience after the fact. You don't actually die until your brain runs out of oxygen and considering how good the brain is at utilizing what it can eke out, I imagine that one would learn what forever feels like. Any questions?" There was a disgruntled silence. "Now I could go on, but I suppose we actually have to teach you how to fly well enough to not crash into a tree. Any volunteers to go first?"

"I'll go," Laura smiled sunnily.

Rodney drew back a step, "You? What? No. You already know how to fly one of these things. Aren't you just here to make sure no one runs with scissors?"

Laura laughed. "Relax, McKay, and think of it this way. If all goes wrong we can survive our second crash together."

Rodney looked undecided. "Besides, McKay," Laura wrinkled her nose in a way her friends said were cute, "I have no idea how to fly. I'm a Marine, not a pilot.

"Fine," Rodney snapped. "You sit copilot. Rifle, Staff Sergeant Brigand-"

"Boggs."

"-sit behind and buckled up. PADDs are under your chairs so you can follow what I do with the nav screen. And for those who care," the disdain dripping from Rodney's voice indicated he believed those people were in another puddle jumper, "there is a screen on energy input and output. Ronon, just don't shoot anything. Anyone may ask any question that can be described as not ridiculous at any time unless I tell you to shut it. "

It wasn't surprising that Boggs asked all the questions. The man was Air Force and loved his ships. Laura had heard him go on about the X02s. What was surprising was Sam, who was right behind her, was definitely taking notes. By the intensity of the tapping sounds it was as though he had half a clue as to what Boggs and McKay were talking about. Laura was pretty sure that Sam and Dean were both janitors, though how the hell anyone landed that gig out here was a mystery between them and the SGC. What qualifications did one have to have to end up solely as janitorial? Did they invent a cleaner? Find a way to instantly dissolve gum? It was probably more than that with the way Colonel Sheppard was acting. The entire situation stank.

"Dr. McKay," Boggs asked seriously, "does the gravitational pull of the planet impact the strain of operating the puddle jumper and if so how does the ship adjust for gravitational variance?"

Laura sighed as she watched over the main window. The dance of the tree line and the sky as Rodney swerved back and forth was a little hypnotizing. It was pretty, and a little sad to try and figure out where you could repeat the experience on Earth.

"No, planetary gravitation doesn't have any impact on the operator, but it does affect output-"

"What's that?" Sam cut in loudly, tapping the reading so it would highlight on the network. Laura leaned towards the main diagnostics.

"It's a heat signature," Rodney frowned. "Why is there a heat signature all the way out here?" The reading changed. "Proximity alert! Everyone brace yourselves!"

"Brace ourselves for what?" asked staff sergeant Boggs.

His answer was an explosion.

X_X_X_X_X_X_X_XX_X_X_X_X_

The problem with being the smartest man in two galaxies was that you understood on a level that most people never achieved.

Like now. The jumper was going (had been shot) down. In between the moments of terror Rodney's brain was whirring away, calculating the chances of everyone's survival (Rifle the Taller and the Meathead Marine had the highest chances if they had obeyed the command to wear the safety restraints) and the likelihood of continued survival if they did make it to the ground alive (there was a high risk he and Cadman would take injuries that would be fatal if left untreated) and if that survival even mattered (they had been shot down, which meant enemies, though in Ronon survived it changed the data).

Rodney watched every tree that passed by them (the odds of one spearing him through the windshield decreased with their descent). He could hear Cadman swearing as she held onto the jumper's dash (increased chance of wrist injury). Rodney flung his sleeve in front of his eyes (decreased chance of blindness cause by windshield exploding on impact).

The first thing Rodney felt was a thousand stings across his face as the windshield exploded on impact (blindness averted by sleeve). Then he noticed the lurching slammed into the console, his arm taking the brunt force (broken arm in exchange for a concussion). Jumpers needed air bags. The ship twisted until it was upside down, then right side up. In the back something bounced with a crack (likely Ronon, who had been standing in the back) as the ship seemed to settle.

Rodney pulled his sleeve away with a wince. There was pain but it was unlikely his arm was broken, not that Rodney had anything to compare it to. Until the Colonel had come into his life he hadn't had much experience with injuries at all.

Around him the puddle jumper was in pieces. The windshield was gone. Well maybe not gone so much as everywhere but where it was supposed to be. A fluffy coniferous tree cut between McKay and Cadman, completely blocking his view as to whether she was alive.

"Everyone okay?" came a breathless rasp in the back.

"Rifle, is that you?"

There was a sigh. "Yeah. It's me."

Part of Rodney was disappointed- not that Sam was alive but that it was Sam who was alive. He was on a ship with two Marines, an alien version of Rambo and a space janitor and he's stuck trying to survive with the janitor? Life must have been having a cosmic laugh at his expense.

"You sound injured. Are you injured? Don't tell me your injured."

"What am I, chopped liver?"

"Boggs! You're alive. Oh good. Here I thought me and janitor boy were going to have to fight our way to civilization."

"Thanks Dr. McKay." Sam didn't sound very grateful.

"Why would you be a liver?"

"Ronon!" Rodney could have wept with relief. "You're alive!" Rodney might actually survive this. He waited for a moment. "Cadman, you can chime in at any moment." Rodney tried to peer over the tree. "Cadman?"

The spruce between them shuddered and for a moment Rodney that the explosive expert was climbing over it. Instead Ronon slid down Rodney's side of the tree. "Come on, McKay." He held out a massive hand.

Rodney stared at the tree, willing it to move. "McKay." With a sigh he gave Ronon his good arm and allowed himself to be lead, Rodney McKay wasn't one to be dragged, to the back of the jumper.

It was a mess even when you ignored the tip of the tree sticking in the way. One of the panels had opened under the force of the explosion and had launched several crystals to the floor, coating it in iridescent shards. All the packs had broken free of their bindings and were lodged in strange places. Rifle was sitting in his chair struggling to untangle himself from the puddle jumper equivalent of a seatbelt, while Boggs…

Boggs was lying on the floor on his back like a cloud-watcher, hands folded behind his head and his steely gaze focused on the ceiling.

Rodney stared at him a moment, wondering if it was an Air Force thing to be acting out in the most irrelevant way possible in any given situation, but Sheppard was fairly on task. But before he could ask Boggs' opinion there came a knock on the back hatch.

There was no way a rescue had found them already. The odds of Atlantis having witnessed their glorious nosedive was slim to none, meaning the only way they'd know was if McKay radioed it in. Which he probably should have when he was still at the controls.

So who was knocking?

Everyone but Rodney pulled a gun.

"Open up before we blow you up," came the ineffectual demand. Just going by the man's voice made Rodney feel like he was being threatened by one of the chipmunks. The drunk chipmunk, whichever one that was.

"I'm going to kill them all," muttered Ronon, going for the door release.

Rodney yanked on his hand. "Are you crazy? You don't know how many are out there. You are going to get me killed!"

"You aren't afraid, are you McKay?"

"Afraid? Afraid! I am way beyond afraid! Cadman is dead. We're about to follow suit that's to you and your hair brained ideas. Shooting isn't always the answer."

"You have to the count of hob to come out."

"So what would you have us do? Surrender like cowards?

"Nek!"

"It's not cowardice if it keeps us alive."

"Gob"

"Bullshit McKay, and you know it. If I am going to die I will die a warrior."

"Partu."

"I'm not a warrior!"

"Ret."

"We surrender!" hollered Boggs, who was still lying on his back. "What?" He asked with a touch too much innocence. "You both know it's what Sheppard would do." He reached over and pulled the emergency release even as he discarded his weapon.

The door opened to more men and women than even Ronon could take. One of them was laying charges around the jumper. The rest were carrying guns. Big guns. And they looked mean.

"Step out of the ship one at a time, hands above your head." Chipmunk, it turned out, actually resembled the animal Rodney had dubbed him. He was short, thin, and nervous.

Rodney did as he was told. "This is entirely unreasonable," he declared angrily. He was forced to place his hands behind his back where they were tied in place.

Sam followed next, then Ronon behind him.

Boggs stayed on the floor.

"Why isn't he getting up?" whispered Rodney

"Shit," whispered Sam. He looked oddly grim, as if he could possibly know something the genius didn't.

Chipmunk walked into the jumper. "Get up."

Boggs gave a half shrug. "Can't." Oh gawd. It dawned on Rodney. Boggs must not have been wearing his seatbelt. Being tossed around the jumper like a rag doll could cause a number of injuries and the odds of four of five of the jumper's occupants being okay was slim to none.

Chipmunk shrugged back. "Fine." He aimed his gun.

"I'll carry him!" shouted Sam. "Let me carry him."

A bang echoed in the forest.

x-x-x-x-x-x-xx-x-x-x-xx-x-

The march was made in a silence that seemed to mute the forest itself.

They were lead to a building Sam had never seen before but still looked impossibly familiar. It was nestled in a clearing, and the moss and vines growing up its sides dated it as old. Sam really didn't want to go inside.

"There is an outpost, here? And Sheppard said his men checked the planet. Checked it my ass. I am firing that man as soon as I see him."

"Silence, Atlantean scum!"

Rodney opened his mouth but closed it again, likely thinking of Boggs and the way his brains had splattered over the floor.

The inside shed some light on the structure. It looked a lot like Atlantis, if Atlantis was covered in an icky membrane and smelled like decomposing flesh. It didn't take long for them to be led into a cell. They prodded Ronon in with their weapons, forcing him to the far wall while Rodney entered willingly.

Sam went to follow McKay, not wanting to make things worse when a gun was slapped across his chest, barring the way.

"Not you." The door to the cell slammed shut.

"What the hell could you possibly want with Rifle? He's a janitor for Pete's sake!" Rodney sounded honest to God confused.

Ronon snarled. "Touch him and your dead!"

They were both ignored as hands, surprisingly soft given the rag tag band that had captured them, gripped him and pulled him away from his companions fading protests. As he was dragged deeper into the base, the fetid organic matter covering the walls grew thicker and grosser with each step.

He was pushed through a door. Without his arms he couldn't find his balance so Sam crashed hard to his knees, a solid grip on the nape of his neck, holding him in place. He peeked through his bangs, watching as those who had brought him here all move throughout the room to what Sam guessed was assigned places. The formation resulted in a semi-circle facing a closed door. The level of cult permeating the atmosphere as everyone silently stared at the door was creeping Sam out.

But not near as much as the thing that emerged.

It, Sam refused to give it a gender, to humanize it, had stringy white hair that was pulled back in a ponytail. It had no eyebrows, and there were slits in the skin angling near the nose. Two thin strings of hair marked the chin. Its skin was a light green, the color a human turned only when they were overtaken by severe illness. The skin shone strangely in the light, as though it were covered in wax or maybe latex. Worst was the mouth, with teeth sticking out of it like an anglerfish.

The Wraith looked at Sam and smiled. Sam smiled back. "Tell me of your success," it rasped.

The man who had shot Boggs bowed low. "The plan went as you said it would, Master, and we were able to capture three of the Atlantean scum. None are gravely injured and are fit for Master to do whatever he will."

The Wraith frowned, circling around the room. "Only three?"

The man looked nervous. "The fourth was injured. I dispatched him."

"Am I not kind to you, Gorrin? Have I not shown you a better way than you had before? I provide you with food, with shelter. It was I who rescued you from Olesia, defying the edict of my very kin so you could stand here today.

"Yet you take food from my mouth even as I stoop and scramble to help you with your vengeance. You offer me death when all I have given you is life."

"Master, I beg forgiveness."

"Oh Gorrin, you shall have it." Gorrin relaxed, his hands moving to hang loosely at his sides even though the Wraith continued. "When I am provided with something to eat."

Gorrin pointed at Sam, who was still smiling. "Is that not what he is for?"

The Wraith chuffed. "He is a great gift, but beyond the importance of a snack. You should have brought the injured man."

"He couldn't walk." The Wraith drew near Gorrin.

"Then you should have carried him." He slammed a hand into Gorrin's chest.

Sam watch indifferently as Gorrin twisted silently under the hand, his life draining as he seemingly aged in seconds. The Wraith removed his hand and the corpse hit the floor with a thud.

No one else batted an eye.

"I hate that I needed to do that," the Wraith heaved a sigh, "but let it be a reminder. Your survival is linked to mine."

"Yes Master," the room chorused.

"You are all free to leave. Start working on stage two. I will be… dealing with our guest." He walked over to Sam, excitement pouring off of his very skin.

A middle-aged woman raised a hand. Waiting until she was acknowledged she stepped forward. "Will you require assistance with the prisoner?"

The Wraith laughed. "No Kesli. He will not give me any trouble. Isn't that right?" He lifted Sam's chin and was met with blank eyes. "You're going to be no trouble at all."

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Confusion Clear Ups

Olesia-Will be explained better next chapter.

A count to hob- With different alphabets everyone is bound to have different numbering systems.


	7. Tides

Disclaimer: Not mine

**Faustian Hopscotch**

Chapter 7

Tides

John took in the scene with the grim eye of a seasoned soldier. It was the only eye he could use that wouldn't lead him to freaking the fuck out.

The jumper was empty, save for the corpse. His dog tags identified him as SSgt George Boggs in a way his face was now incapable of. Blood and brain mattered coated the jumper floor where Boggs had been left to rot.

The rest of the jumper had been empty of people but the gear everyone had brought was scattered across the floor, having been thoroughly tossed. John didn't know what had been taken. Who knew what Rodney had smuggled off Atlantis so he could keep up with his lab work. John would have to ask after he rescued him.

"Sir," Lance Corporal Young's voice crackled over the radio. "I have a problem."

"A jumper has been shot down, Corporal. We all have problems."

"Winchester went off on his own. Dr. Greenburg and I are less than halfway to camp. What are your orders, sir?"

Besides to shoot Dean on site? "Radio for a jumper pick up and have it land where it can. It'll be faster than walking. Once Dr. Greenburg is secure I want you doing cloaked flybys. Find Winchester. Shoot him if you have to but get him out of here."

x-x-x-x-x-x

Somewhere in the forest, Dean rolled his eyes. Colonel Fancy Hair may be willing to shoot him but the man forgot that Dean also had a radio. And Dean wasn't going anywhere without his brother.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Leroy unceremoniously dumped Dr. Greenburg's useless ass on the ground as soon as they made it back to Boot Camp. Something in Leroy had snapped when, on the way back, the scientist had asked for yet another break, even though they were down a civilian and even though the Colonel had decided to go off on what basically amounted to his own and even though they had a jumper down. He'd scooped the scientist up into a fireman's hold and had jogged the rest of the way to Boot Camp. It had took too damn long but at least they had made it, something that would have never happened had Greenburg continued to set the pace.

As it stood, Boot Camp had basically been gutted. Leroy was actually kinda feeling all impressed-like by the amount of progress made. It had taken days to get this all shipped over and in a few hours most of it was gone, including the civilians.

Dr. Greenburg stuck out like a sore thumb.

"Hey, you! Lance Corporal. Why haven't you gotten this man through the gate. All civilians were supposed to have hauled ass an hour ago."

See?

"Just got back from PT with Sheppard, Sergeant."

"He carried me! And he ran. Then he dropped me in a puddle."

The Sergeant looked amused. "Ah. Corporal Young. We'll take care of your civilian from here. Your jumper's been prepped and is ready to go."

"Prepped, sir? I thought these things were self prepping?"

The Sergeant looked grave. "Lorne and his team aren't coming through the Stargate until we stop going through. The whole one-way bullshit that the scientists are always going on about.

"That means you are the first wave of the Colonel Sheppard Rescue Effort, which means you'll need medical supplies, some big guns, and a couple of MREs for Dr. McKay."

"Colonel Sheppard Rescue Effort? He checked in a few minutes ago! He hasn't been captured."

The sergeant eyed him up with a pitying look, one that said 'you're new here'. He shook his head. "Not yet."

x-x-x-x-x

Teyla took point, here sharp eyes scanning the forest floor for the trail left behind by the missing Atlanteans.

She was also learning more about their captors. Whoever had taken John's men was not used to the forest. They often stumbled, breaking branches as they caught themselves on the forest shrubs. They also didn't notice that both Ronon and another were doing everything they could to leave a more obvious trail. There were falls and steps into mud puddles that were actually difficult to reach given the current route.

Teyla could have followed it blind.

It made her wonder just whom the enemy was. If they were so unfamiliar with the forest it was unlikely that they were originally from this planet. If they were new here though, why were they so hostile. The odds of them having been aware that the Atlanteans trained here were slim indeed. Perhaps they had reacted out of fear, mistaking the flying ship for Wraith.

But then why take prisoners? Maybe they had thought the ship's occupants were Wraith Worshippers.

There would be little enough information until they found the missing men.

With the trail being obvious it didn't take long for Teyla and John to find it's end.

An Ancient Outpost sat nestled in a clearing, having been partially consumed by nature.

"Well, that gives us an edge." John flashed a smile. "We're going to be more familiar with the terrain."

Teyla doubted his logic.

"The real trick is going to be getting in. They likely have guards posted at the entrance, but if we're careful we should be able to creep in unseen."

"Don't move! Hands above your head." A dozen people emerged from the underbrush behind John and Teyla, and Teyla cursed herself a fool for not being more aware.

John raised his hands. "Well, isn't this a cheery welcome. How'd you know we were coming?"

"You tripped a proximity sensor-"

"Shut up, Orro." The woman turned an impressive sneer on John. "We'll tell you nothing, Atlantean scum."

"Okay, so we aren't going to be friends." John drawled in a tone that's still friendly. Teyla does not understand why John does that, nor how. "Now that we've established that, care to tell me why we aren't friends?"

The woman growled. "Does the name Olesia mean nothing to you? You arrive and in one day, a single day, our world is gone, culled to the point of nothingness. We were fine until you came, until you killed our planet. You Atlantean scum and your thrice cursed meddling ruined everything and now you and your people are going to die-"

"Silence, Kesli. We need to take them to the others."

"We didn't cause that."

"Shut up, Atlanean. You will stay silent or you were learn how good my aim is."

Taking the man's threat seriously John stayed silent even as he was stripped of his weapons. Teyla could see that it cost him. It took her effort to not launch an attack as they came for hers, but it would be futile.

They took a step towards the building and Teyla gasped, knowing their circumstances had taken a dire turn.

John turned to look at her, mouthing _What?_

_Wraith _she mouthed backed.

The entrance opened and the evidence of Wraith activity covered the walls. A muscle in John's jaw twitched.

They were led a set of small, barred cells and unceremoniously shoved into one on the end.

Teyla could tell by the set of his shoulders that John was going to open his mouth.

"John?"

"_Rodney?!_" John sagged like a tree under snow. "Ronon. What do you got for me?"

Ronon shrugged. "Boggs and Cadman are dead." Teyla bowed her head. Laura had been a good friend. "Our enemy is using projectile weapons that are better than the Genii but not as good as ours. Probably Wraith Worshippers if the decorations are anything to go by.

"And they took Sam."

John nodded, his face unusually serious. Rodney took a step closer to lay a hand on John's arm when John gasped. "What did you do to your face?"

"What did I do?" Rodney huffed. "I survived a crash, that is what I did? The real question is what did you do?"

"I do?"

"You got captured! Now who's going to rescue us?"

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-xx-x-x

Dean was awesome. He had found the creepy alien base, snuck into said creepy alien base, which was harder than it sounded given all the computer equipment woven around, and was now skillfully navigating the stinky corridors.

It was by no means the smelliest environment Dean had ever found himself in. That prize could belong to a shifter nest, the heady reek of sewer mixing with the putrid stench of the goop shifters left behind after doing their thing. Or it could go to the Wendigo cave, the air always heavy with Wendigo piss and the rot of half eaten campers.

The people here seemed to be intact, more or less, anyhow. Dean was dodging down the corridors with the skills that had likely led to Heinrickson having an ulcer. And while most of them had not seen Dean in the jagged shadows of the Ancient's crazy architecture, as though they were relatively normal, cause hey, you can only be so sane if the place you live in smells like the inside of a coffin, a few had dragged themselves across the wall, almost stumbling into Dean and none gave a shit as they rubbed at their skulls.

Dean recognized the signs of withdrawal even when he had missed them with his brother. Instead of feeling relieved that he would be facing a bunch of cringing junkie it set Dean's teeth on edge. There would have to be a Ruby around here running this circus and Dean bet Sam had already found her.

The entire place was seriously wrong. Just check out the walls. It made Dean's skin itch and his hands long for accelerant and a lighter.

Luckily Dean was going to be out of here soon. According to his Big Brother spidey-senses, Sam was going to be through the door at the end of the hall.

He hefted his pack then raised his gun. After a quick mental count Dean charged through the door, bumping into a shelf. With a stifled yelp Dean rubbed at his shoulder and surveyed the room.

If the people milling about didn't kill Dean, irony would. He was standing in a janitor's closet.

x-x-x-x-xx-x-xx-xx-x-x-x-xx-x-

The moment the last man walked through the Circle of the Ancestors, as the more primitive peoples had taken to calling it, they jumped out of their hiding spots. They weren't sure how much time they had so they moved quickly.

Dinna was in charge of tech and swiftly began rummaging through the dialing device, pulling out crystals only to put them back in a new order. When she was satisfied with the sequence she took two long cables that were attached to her laptop and connected them.

She began to type furiously, her eyes scanning the coding with grim satisfaction as the program tweaked and morphed into exactly what she needed.

"Dinna!" someone called in warning. She ignored them. She could hear the Circle spinning as well as her companions could, but it was already too late for the Atlanteans. The program was ready.

She uploaded.

The dialing device began to light up, dialing impossibly fast. The wormhole engaged. Going out to Olesia. Or what was left of it, which wasn't much thanks to the Atlanteans.

The destination was really quite arbitrary. Keeping the gate busy was the key, which was why the program would autodial the gate until she shut it down.

All according to plan.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-xx-

Lorne hit the gate coordinates again. Again the gate spun and made it's 'address not found' noise.

"Steve, when is the Daedalus due back?"

"Not for a week, sir."

"Well hell."

X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X

Teyla can psychically sense Wraith. That's even cannon.

Heinrickson was an FBI agent assigned to the Winchester's case.

Olesians- Yeah, they were pretty advanced. From the episode Condemned.

AN-

Thanks for all the reviews from last chapter. I haven't had a chance to respond to most of you because I was busy writing this. But I read and appreciate them all. Next chapter probably won't be this quick. Life is getting weird. But it shouldn't take forever, but no promises.


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